


Days of Sun

by sigmalied



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-12 02:10:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3339749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigmalied/pseuds/sigmalied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Elder One has fallen, but the Chantry still wanders headless and only the most glorious of candidates will ascend the Sunburst Throne. She must be radiant, moving, and tactful; everything Cassandra believes she is not. At least, not without help from someone fluent in the language of social finesse...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1—Day of Wrath

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, this fic will be riddled with spoilers since it's post-game.
> 
> (Extended Summary): This spans the single month between the defeat of Corypheus and the ascension of Divine Victoria. Cassandra feels that she is most appropriate for the position but is extremely reluctant to participate in the politicking and showboating. She would much rather leave fate in the hands of the Maker, but at the same time, she has never been a woman of inaction and cannot bear to sit idle when the Inquisitor begins supporting a certain candidate solely for personal gain. Everyone knows that Orlesians love a good show, and Josephine knows exactly how to give Cassandra a fighting chance at winning the race.
> 
> Every chapter will begin with an item written by one of the characters that is immediately relevant to the plot.

_To all Grand Clerics, both official and provisional, whom the Grand Consensus presently comprises,_

_I am pleased to hear that the Inquisition's victory against the ancient Magister Corypheus has mitigated unease in Val Royeaux for the time being. It has been, from our humble beginning, in the Inquisition's utmost interest to restore an orderly and functional platform from which the Chantry can rebuild itself. It is my sincerest hope that the next Divine shall be as glorious as all her predecessors; but certainly, a choice so imperative cannot be made lightly. A monumental responsibility lies upon the shoulders of the Grand Consensus—a weight so immense as to rival the world's._

_It may be of some consolation to know that the Inquisition shall likely relinquish independence, partially, to the next Divine when the time comes (for the ultimate objective of this organization has been completed, leaving it with few tasks other than occupying what would otherwise be a power vacuum). Our forces may be at the Chantry's disposal if our original purpose, in legitimate permutations, continues to be relevant and necessary, whether repurposed for restoration efforts or new-era reform. Regardless of precise direction we would serve as a most effective ally, as per usual._

_I felt it proper of me to inform the current leaders of the Chantry of the Inquisition's position and concerns. If the next Divine should, by a regrettable twist of fate, be received adversely by existing governments or informal factions, the Inquisition would like to provide unwavering support against these bodies if they grow hostile. For the Chantry, in its wounded state, cannot be abandoned during a time most vital to its recovery and especially not with the many malcontented entities, displaced by the wars and drifting about like treacherous flotsam and jetsam, raging against the Chantry with brandished arms. It would be a strange and truly dismal future indeed if the Inquisition found itself for some reason unable to ally with the next Divine in the face of such terrible circumstances._

_However, I harbor little or no fear of this coming to pass, for the members of this Grand Consensus are a reasonable body who have successfully guided the Chantry through its darkest times in centuries, and will similarly exercise this good judgment during the selection of the next Divine._

_Cordially,_

_Lady Antonia Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste and Inquisitor_

**.**

**-][-**

**.**

The iron war hammer swung, heavy and toilsome as it broke through weak air and slammed against the metal shield with a resounding bang. Heels dug into the dirt, twisted and anchored—uprooting sparse bits of grass and grinding pebble-debris deeper into the packed earth. The blow, that might have contained enough force to shatter the knees of a giant if aimed so, was endured. A strained grunt was issued past gritted teeth and two breaths, drawn in quick succession, passed a flare of nostrils and into waiting lungs. With no small amount of strength summoned by heated muscles, the maul was propelled from the shield's face and forcefully thrown back toward its master.

The act was repeated again, and again; and each time the fierce sounds erupting behind barred teeth, like brief snarls, climbed in volume until they straddled the point of shouting. Before long the defender had become the attacker, driving the maul-wielder further back with every blow and subsequent retaliation.

"Again," was Cassandra's growled resolution each time.

As she commanded, metal boomed against metal anew but locked, drawing her and the Iron Bull into a deadlock of sheer will. Dirt churned beneath boots, stamped and pounded flat by steps taken in rushing advances, only to be pushed back over the same ground in return. The maul's shaft slammed into the shield's face, braced against it, and threatened to overwhelm the human fighting against the crushing pressure. Just a quick relent followed—a small space created between shield and maul, then a sudden thrust of the shield forward to eliminate that expanse. It ended with a staggering impact, another shout, and a succession of aggressive shield-bashing which evoked the destructive attrition of a battering ram. Metal shrieked, and pain blossomed wildly in limbs and joints.

A clever shift in footing was all it took to send the Qunari stumbling forward for loss of Cassandra's shield, which had acted as a stabilizing purchase for all his focused might. The Iron Bull quickly recovered and regained his stance, but the time had finally come to disengage. Their shoulders equally heaved with fatigue, arms still raised in boasted resilience. The great eye wrought into the center of Cassandra's shield bore new dents but it had not yielded to the day's punishment—it still stared outward with implied omnipotence, gleaming sharply in the sunlight, and as scrupulous and composed as it was when leaving the forge red-hot.

"So," Bull said, slight exhaustion fringing his voice. He plunged the lozenge pommel of the war hammer into the ground and leaned against the now-vertical beam it provided. "Care for another round? I could call a couple of my Chargers over. They could use the practice."

Without regarding him, Cassandra withdrew her arm from her shield's enarmes and propped it against her leg before removing one of her gloves. She ran the back of her bared hand across her forehead, wiping at a delicate sheen of sweat that had gathered there. A few lingering pants escaped her lips as stamina gradually returned to her muscles. "Your Chargers are formidable," she breathlessly said, pulling the glove back on. Her fingers slipped into their spiked sheaths. "But I would not wish to injure them with my selfishness."

He laughed. "Oh, they can take quite a beating. Even if you  _are_  spitting fire like a dragon today."

She turned her eyes upon him, but eventually averted them once again. "I thank you for your time, Bull. It is convenient that the Qunari find… catharsis to be a healthy activity."

The Iron Bull interpreted the response as words of parting. He yanked the end of the maul from the ground again, hoisted it over his shoulder, and said to Cassandra, "Any time. Always appreciate having comrades willing to beat the  _shit_  out of each other when needed."

He departed, heading back toward the tavern. Cassandra heard, but paid little heed, to the sound of Sera's voice shouting down something from the second-floor window, and the Iron Bull's reply. She was currently too preoccupied; rolling her shoulder back several times to assuage the dull throb acquired from meeting so many taxing blows in rapid succession and returning them with equal force.

Though her sword had been drawn throughout the entire exchange, she had refrained from striking with it even in the spirit of practice. Cassandra spun the blade in her hand twice before executing a deliberate slash through the air as if an invisible enemy stood before her, then another, and once more—although not intending for her idle rehearsal to serve as anything other than a distraction for herself.

Her mind was heavy. And the only treatment to such an affliction—one that ever yielded any results—was raw, responsive action. Yet little could be done. The Inquisitor had made a decision at last and there was no contesting it beyond criticism, as much as she wished to. For as long as Trevelyan sat upon the Inquisition's throne, her whim, to the extent of plausibility, was unequivocally supported by thousands. Such was the power of the one who had steered the world away from the brink of a limitless abyss; virtually unchecked by the southern crowns of Thedas, and free to ordain as she pleased.

While Cassandra respected the Inquisitor, there were times not dissimilar to these when she greatly disapproved of her actions. Trevelyan's support of Vivienne—regardless of the discretion under which it was carried out—was almost offensively transparent if it attempted to conceal ulterior motive. In light of Madame de Fer's interest in the position, it was not unreasonable in the slightest to suspect that  _this_  had been a major ambition of hers upon first joining the Inquisition.

But a passionate lover of the Chantry and its traditions, as Lady Trevelyan was, could never be so keen on placing a mage on the Sunburst Throne unless said mage had brought temptation to the table. What was it, Cassandra wondered? What compelled the Inquisitor to make so unorthodox and reckless a move? To gamble the very stability of the organized religion she held so dearly to her heart... What more in the way of power and influence could Madame Vivienne possibly offer Trevelyan to adamantly commit her to this potential Divine?

Cassandra crossly sheathed her sword, halting her own thoughts for fear of reigniting her frustration when hours had just been spent dousing it. After lifting her shield she oriented herself in the direction of her quarters, but paused at the base of the gray stone stairway with one foot poised on the first step when she heard a peculiar noise. She turned to peer over her shoulder after a moment's hesitation spent deciding whether the sound was negligible, and scanned the visible grounds for the source. Groups of soldiers, scouts, and non-combatants were milling about as usual, but none were overly conspicuous. Slowly she returned her attention to the steps, but was only able to ascend several more before the sound reached her notice again. This time, however, the origin was more accurately isolated.

Several swift paces were taken to the edge of the staircase where she looked downward. Almost immediately, no less than four female recruits of ambiguous branch scattered and stumbled amongst one another after emerging from the thin brush growing against the wall. Among them was a novitiate scout of Leliana's, who donned her hood as she fled to conceal her identity.

With an exasperated roll of her eyes, Cassandra continued on.

This had happened once before; a small flock of recruits shadowing her at some distance as she tread away from the training grounds, attempting to remain undetected but ultimately failing when their  _giggling_  compromised their position. Cassandra believed she had solved the problem after the first offense by having turned on her heel, taking several aggressive steps in their direction, and delivering a menacing glare with a hand harmlessly (but expressively) lain upon her sword, but that had apparently not been the case. While she was willing to let them escape without reprimand that time, today Cassandra was much less inclined to grant them further lenience. To serially and openly ridicule a superior officer, whether that officer was part of their specific branch or not, was simply unacceptable. The time had come to inform their commanders.

**.**

**-][-**

**.**

After depositing her shield in her quarters Cassandra disembarked for the throne room, and from there, made her way up the spiraling tower and through its candlelit shadows to accost Leliana. No one intercepted her. She passed the small library and its quiet readers, placed her feet on the final flight of stairs, and at their peak found the spymaster with her scouts and ravens as usual. They drifted away from the earshot of others when Cassandra requested a quick word.

"They are not making good use of their spare time," Cassandra explained, pausing to dust off a black feather from her shoulder after a raven fluttered by them in search of a roosting spot. "I might be doing them an undeserved kindness by letting you issue a warning first, because I am very intent on confronting them personally should this continue."

"What are they doing, exactly?" Leliana inquired, appearing invested in the problem. While she was not as stringent about regulations as Cassandra was, she would not tolerate shameless insubordination. The Inquisition was a formal, competent entity now, and its forces were expected to behave accordingly.

"They have been following me around the grounds, particularly when I am training. Whispering amongst each other and giggling until I scatter them. I'm not sure what they are saying about me, but I doubt it's pleasant. Perhaps they find my demeanor humorous, or less accommodating than what they'd expect. It does not matter. I am  _not_  an object for their amusement and I  _will_  put an end to it if you do not."

A strange expression lit Leliana's features, effectively puzzling Cassandra. And when she laughed with some restraint, as if she had rather not but merely  _could not_  contain the reaction, Cassandra developed a distinct frown.

"I suppose you find me humorous as well?" she acridly demanded.

"At this moment I do," Leliana confessed, finally managing to stifle her amusement. "Cassandra, I don't quite know how to tell you this, but I don't think they're laughing  _at you_."

"Well that is certainly difficult to believe, given the fact that I just heard them not ten minutes ago—"

"They are _fawning_  over you, Cassandra," the spymaster said outright. Her words instantly transmuted Cassandra's displeasure into further confusion, then brought forth obvious surprise.

An embarrassed, confounded silence took hold of the Seeker, and it soon crumbled into an inelegant denial, "Th-That is  _absurd_. No normal person follows another around, laughing behind their back and calls it..." She fumed at the look Leliana's face still maintained. "Either way, tell them to keep away from me unless they have something constructive to ask of me. I am still not here for anyone's amusement, even if their intentions are benign."

"Very well," Leliana agreed, a smile still quirking her lips. "I'll keep an eye out for your admirers and have a word with them privately." She momentarily transferred her attention to a few notes on the table behind her, gathered them into her hands, shuffled through them, and retrieved one in particular before motioning a runner over to prepare a raven for its deliverance. She looked back at Cassandra when they were alone again and lowered her voice. "How are you handling the Inquisitor's decision?"

Cassandra pivoted her upper body toward the mullioned window, which granted an excellent survey of the grounds below. "I'm sure you were an audience to that question's answer already."

"Well yes, but I'd also rather hear what you'd like to say about it personally."

"...I am utterly baffled by it," the Seeker confessed after some pensive consideration, resting her forearms on the stone shelf beneath the window. "It was an obvious grab for power of some sort. What could be gained by reinstating the failed institutions exactly as they were, but in this case tipping the scales in favor of the opposite side? This decision will turn the Chantry on its head and there  _will_  be further war. After all we struggled to put an end to the chaos, Trevelyan seems to have acquired a taste for blood and battle, if her interests aren't power or wealth. And I think they are."

"You also want the position for yourself, do you not?"

Cassandra blinked and turned her head in Leliana's direction. "I... I suppose I do. I was initially adverse to the idea, but time has completely changed my stance." She pushed herself away from the window. "But it no longer matters. The Inquisitor has committed herself to a candidate, and I will not pursue it further. I would make better use of my time preparing for the inevitable backlash."

"Really?" Leliana raised an inquiring eyebrow. "You would give up so quickly?"

"I am  _not_  actually conceding," Cassandra clarified. "I am recognizing my position in the matter and acting accordingly. So many powers of Thedas have been swayed by the Inquisition, and they  _will_  bend to Trevelyan's pressure. As I see it, my most potent chance of being placed upon the Sunburst Throne lied in the Inquisitor's hands, and by extension, the Maker's. I'm not precisely a palatable candidate, Leliana." Frustration lightly coated her words. The acceptance of her unfortunate disadvantage had not come easily indeed.

Leliana surprised her with an unanticipated expression of disapproval. "So that's it then?" she hissed, doing her best to keep their conversation safe from prying ears. "Walk away without putting up a fight? What's wrong with you?"

Cassandra's eyebrows arched downward sharply at the criticism, daring Leliana to start an argument.

"Honestly, I've never  _once_  seen you back down from anything," she pressed. "Why now, why this? You're quitting before this has even truly begun!"

"Well what in Andraste's name would you have of me?" Cassandra demanded. "Weren't you vying for the position as well? What could you possibly gain by hounding me?"

Leliana folded her arms, heavily exhaled, and briefly glanced over her shoulder to ensure their privacy. "I am keeping Divine Justinia in mind," she solemnly said.

"I know she favored you," Cassandra stated with little inflection.

"That isn't the point. Divine Justinia, above all things, wanted what was best for Thedas. But she did not survive to see what profound effects the Inquisition had on the world. Things have changed, Cassandra. The wars have shuffled power and eliminated entities that once existed. The same pieces are not in play anymore, and many of those that remain have been moved clear across the board. I would do Justinia no favors by removing you from the equation."

"But do you realize what I would have to do in order to hoist myself above the Inquisitor's influence without publicly declaring myself and looking like a fool?" Cassandra asked. It was not a rhetorical question. She waited for an honest answer, and when she received none, she continued. "I am not a diplomat, Leliana, nor am I the master of a well-connected network. My past achievements and merit alone lay spread out for the Grand Consensus to review, and they will either choose me based upon them, or they will not. Either the Maker shall have me, or He will not. Anything I do now would be disingenuous vaunting and I will  _not_  participate in something so hollow."

"So your alternative is to stand back and watch others occupy all the niches you might have filled well? Demonstrating your competence is  _not_  a flaw in morality or character, Cassandra. If you do not make yourself visible, who will judge you? If you do not show the Maker that you are passionate and determined, how could He choose you?"

Cassandra intensely eyed Leliana, lips drawn into a thin line by the ferocity of her silence. The spymaster's argument had pierced her like a halberd. For the duration of their pause, only the soft flurry of beaten wings and the scratching of talons when they secured a grip on the rafters filled the air.

"I... I will think on it," Cassandra decided at length. She rubbed at the back of her neck with a hand, growing increasingly uncomfortable with each passing second. "I have absolutely _no_  idea how I would go about making myself more 'compelling', but..." Suddenly she trailed off, finding herself harboring immense dislike for her own words and ending the thought with the finality of a guillotine, "As I said, I will think on it."

She excused herself from Leliana's company after muttering something about wanting to bathe and vanished down the stairwell, deeply immersed in thought.


	2. Day 2—Day of Civility

_My dearest Cassandra,_

_It has come to my attention that the decision made at the war table yesterday has severely dampened your mood. In all actuality, I would have been surprised if it had not. While it is perfectly expected of you to carry on through several obligatory days of dejection and frustration, I feel it a responsibility of mine to help reduce the length or degree of that experience. For I have never once regarded us as enemies, and have no wish to do so in the future. My respect for you has remained intact over the months spent battling the evils of this world at your side, and I would be very pleased to know that you feel similarly._

_If our relationship has been damaged in any way by these recent events, allow me to extend both my sincere condolences as well as an invitation to make reparations. I have sent a similar note to Leliana and she, the Inquisitor, and I intend to convene at noon today for a lovely chat amongst colleagues. We mustn't estrange ourselves, my dear. Let us take the time to talk. You will not regret it._

_Please find us on the main hall's balcony area. It would be quite a shame if your voice was absent from our conversation._

— _V._

**.**

**-][-**

**.**

The note, composed in ornate script on a square of thick parchment, rested on a table in Cassandra's quarters where it was warmed by the bright morning sun filtering through the eastern window. She sat beside it, still having yet to don her cuirass and was instead content to spend some peaceful time with an apple in one hand and a paring knife in the other, carving off small pieces for ease of eating.

Her decision had been made almost immediately after reading the short letter. She would be attending this 'talk', if only for the opportunity of clarifying to Vivienne that her disdain was not so much directed at her as it was at the Inquisitor. Vivienne was one of the few with whom Cassandra saw eye-to-eye in spite of some of their starkly contrasting qualities. Madame de Fer was skilled, intelligent, and above all, in possession of a frightening amount of subtlety that was cleverly belied by her grandiose self-image. Although she had often made Cassandra the recipient of unexpected flattery, which the Seeker appreciated, Vivienne was also known to slip in discreet criticism beneath the guise of compliments. At times it was certainly grating, but Cassandra knew herself to be just as equally abrasive and critical when warranted, albeit administered more directly. With all things considered, they were more akin than either was willing to admit.

Beneath Vivienne's letter lied another, one that Cassandra had read in full as well. Blotchy ink on thin, unassuming paper; very circumspect and intentionally crumpled somewhat. Peeling it open had roused crackling sounds that brought Cassandra to the suspicion that it had been wet at some point, and the smeared words within greatly increased the credence of that notion. In defiance of appearances, the contents were remarkably literate.

The letter was from a handful of Seekers whose names, each cosigned in their respective hands, rested at the bottom of their message. Above them in the page's body was but a statement and a question: clandestine word had traveled and found them, that the Inquisition had stamped out Lord Seeker Lucius Corin and his cultist movement. They did not mourn for him, for these Seekers claimed to have defected from their Lord Seeker at an earlier time, but with the worst of the tempest over there still remained inquiries in the wreckage. Who now possessed the Book of Secrets? Was it Cassandra? If it was, did she intend to claim the title of Lady Seeker and did she aspire to rebuild the Seekers?

All were excellent questions, and she had corresponding answers prepared for them.

It was not a major desire of hers to assume the identity of Lady Seeker. Certainly not without the consent of what remained of her order. At present the Seekers were shattered, strewn to the far corners of the continent and utterly disoriented. No living member thus far knew what to do, or even where to go. No ancient bastions hidden in the hills awaited them as safe havens; they were all emptied, deserted, or besieged. If the Seekers were to be rebuilt at all, Cassandra resolved, it would be under a flag representative of their _collective_  dedication to a revised noble purpose—and under that flag, a Lord or Lady Seeker unanimously elected for being exemplary of those values.

She would not simply see them resurrected. She would see the Seekers  _reincarnated_  into something far better than the deceitful and underhanded entity the ages had warped them into. It was not by any means an infallible plan, or a permanent solution. They too, like the original order, would one day collapse from corruption or obsolescence. Such was the nature of time.

But if a new order of Seekers could bring the world just a modicum of security, Cassandra wholeheartedly felt it to be a worthy enterprise. Penning her response was deemed an urgent matter, one requiring quick and decisive execution so that more of her time could be allocated to other numerous pressing concerns.

Just one night was all she required to make her decision regarding her pursuit of the Sunburst Throne. Leliana had been right. Of all things of great import to Cassandra, the future of the Chantry was perhaps amongst the greatest. She did not want reverence nor prestige; not power, not beauty, but  _peace_. Peace, order, and mercy for all people both small and large. In her heart had flared an unquenchable sense of duty in response to these ideals—the very same fire she always felt when confronted by matters of philanthropy and justice.

 _A firm hand of benevolence must be extended by the Chantry,_ she thought as her hands stilled, and her grip on the paring knife stiffened.  _And I know I am capable of being that force. That is all I need to be, and it is what I must be. Against the unfavorable odds, against the will of the Inquisitor. For if my vision for the Chantry is truly just and righteous, the Maker shall have it realized._

Cassandra pulled on her boots and cuirass, tied the belt of her scabbard onto her waist, and emerged into the sunlight. Down steps she traveled, to the first landing, from which she spotted Sera seated on the tavern's roof and leisurely launching arrows into the targets across the way. She would inevitably need to travel through their path. Cassandra deliberately placed herself in clear view, waiting for Sera to pause to allow her through the path of fire.

"The sun says good-morning to your frown," Sera remarked, sticking an arrow into the ground not far from Cassandra's feet. The action only intensified the Seeker's displeased expression. "Where are  _you_  off to, all early and proper?"

"I need to fetch more ink and parchment," Cassandra stated. "I have a letter to write and I'd preferably finish it before noon."

"Then you've hours, and I've arrows." Another found its mark in the center of the bulls-eye.

Cassandra was certainly  _not_  about to explain to Sera that writing letters, even those of a business nature, took more careful effort on her behalf than the average person, but neither did she want to wait for her quiver to empty. "Sera," she said, "may I have a word with you?"

Sera paused and leered suspiciously at her. "What about?"

She hesitated, though ultimately settled on a topic pertinent to her present concerns. "Among those here," Cassandra began, taking advantage of the morning solitude to discuss something openly, "among the Inquisition; who would benefit people at large the most if they were to become Divine?"

An amused snort. "Why come to me? I'm no tip-top, handling dossiers and being told things. What's the ramparts doing turning 'round?"

"Merely curiosity."

Sera gave her a wily look, knowing that Cassandra's question aimed to sate wonders other than simple curiosity. She pushed herself off the roof, feet touching the ground with little repercussion. "Look. She's going to be shiny, she's going to have a big hat, and Trevel-yawn's probably gonna help put her butt on the throne. That lady broke her funny bone a long time ago after hittin' too many people with it, so don't expect smiles. Least from people like me. So basically, go opposite of her. Except demons. Inquisitor don't like demons, and opposite of no demons is a lot of demons. But that's a lot to ask for now." She wandered over to the targets and began retrieving the arrows embedded in them, yanking out one after another and sometimes placing her foot on the edge of the target for leverage.

"A Divine cannot simply promise no more demons—" Cassandra halted herself, sighed, then said, "Never mind. Thank you for answering."

**.**

**-][-**

**.**

She did not complete her letter before noon. It lay half-finished on her table along with a piece of scratch paper containing a neat and sequential outline of what she intended to say in strokes of indelible black, as starting over was always a troublesome affair. When noon came Cassandra tore herself away and made the brief trip to Skyhold's great hall and throne room, whose sconces bathed the walls and furnishings in deep orange while the throne itself—a highly poignant depiction of the holy Andraste engulfed in golden flame, gaudy and grievous—sat in the distant resplendence of magnificent panes of stained glass.

As Cassandra ascended the stairs she lightly brushed past emblems of sunbursts and radiant Templar swords sewn into the tapestry, hung all around the stone walls as if they kept them warmed by the invocation of the Maker alone. Eventually she found herself in the company of Vivienne, Leliana, and the Inquisitor; all seated on Madame de Fer's opulent chairs and looking quite comfortable on the finely-embroidered cushions, with the area lit splendidly by the midday sun shining through the tall windows that opened to the balcony. When she reached them Vivienne warmly greeted her and invited her to sit, and she did, before being offered a glass of white wine by the Inquisitor, who was already pouring them each a generous portion from a nigh-opaque deep green bottle. Knowing Vivienne's sense of timing and etiquette, the idea to drink at noon was more than likely the Inquisitor's.

The drink, as it poured from the lip of the bottle, was eerily reminiscent of the Inquisitor herself. It was of very similar color and pallor as the hair she kept cropped short and parted away from her face for practicality in battle, yet today it was damp and combed back, suggestive of having recently bathed, perhaps in anticipation for the tiny gathering. And just as well, like the wine the remainder of her appearance was nearly as painfully porcelain in palette as the Empress Celene, like a light shining much, much too hard; so hard that it almost proved sinister.

As was her zeal made known. Trevelyan was as much a woman of religious devotion as she was a woman of material delight. Expensive furs, fine drink, and jeweled greatswords—all had made their way into her possession, and would remain there even as her mountain of spoils grew so immense as to portend an avalanche. At times Cassandra wondered if Trevelyan believed she was  _more_  than the Herald of Andraste, and perhaps Andraste herself.

"I am very pleased to see that yet again, the Inquisition has shown itself to boast such impressive civility," Vivienne said to Cassandra and Leliana. As usual, her posture and presentation was regal and without perceivable flaw. She was impeccably dressed, perfumed, and composed. "I know this cannot be a particularly comfortable situation for either of you. Yet here you are."

"Yet here we are," quietly echoed Leliana.

When Cassandra glanced about their raiment, she found herself to be the only one among the four who was wearing a trace of armor. Even Leliana's hooded, chain-mailed cloak was temporarily absent in favor of more relaxed attire.

Vivienne offered them a fleeting smile. "You must know, my dears, that the decision in question was not made lightly nor over any small period of time. So many variables had to be taken into consideration, and in this dismal mess of everything at present, it's quite a wonder that not one, but  _three_  perfectly-qualified candidates could be salvaged from it at all. It is an absolute honor to be considered alongside both Hands of the previous Divine."

"But as stated," Trevelyan thoughtfully began, delicately swirling her wine within the confines of its glass as she turned toward the balcony to compose her thoughts, "I cannot support you all. The Inquisition, with its tremendous influence, _must_  act on the behalf of one. I can't afford to squander away an important investment for the future. To put this in perspective, I suspect that we would be having this very conversation no matter who was selected." She folded one leg over the other. When she did, the Inquisitor caught sight of Cassandra's expectant stare. "...And so I hope we haven't inspired any animosity as a consequence."

"No, not at all," Cassandra replied. "I feel no ill-will toward Vivienne in the slightest."

While Vivienne appeared pleased with her answer, Trevelyan's brow noticeably lowered.

Leliana delicately cleared her throat, already sensing a storm slowly brewing between Cassandra and the Inquisitor. Knowing both of them, lightning could split the skies at any moment, if provoked. "If I may ask a question?"

"Of course," Trevelyan said, putting an end to the disquieting leer she was exchanging with Cassandra.

"I would much appreciate an explanation of how this decision came to be."

"A very reasonable request," Vivienne affably agreed.

"One I can provide," confidently said Trevelyan. She uncrossed her legs again and set her glass on the table to her left. "You see... while Madame Vivienne is a mage, she also holds the views that have carried the Chantry through so many ages. Right now, tradition is what the people need. A loyal Templar force, and safe Circles. And as for the mage crisis, what better way to give mages a fair voice in an otherwise compromising relationship with the Chantry, than to have one of their own at its head? It's a balancing act. It's appeasement. I am not bold enough to put my strength behind unknowns or radicalism. There will be a time for that, Leliana, Cassandra. But that time is not now. Waves of change might overwhelm us all if too heavy or swift. There has been so much change in the world lately, we can scarcely handle it. How could I add more to the backs of people across southern Thedas?"

"You don't think a mage on the Sunburst Throne would cause more change, more chaos, just as well as any other option?" Leliana inquired.

"I know it will," the Inquisitor said. "But it will be short-lived." She rose to pour herself another glass of wine.

Cassandra looked to Vivienne, completely understanding the source of Trevelyan's certainty. Between Vivienne and the Inquisition's forces... any rebellion against the Chantry could be crushed within mere weeks.

"What is on your mind, Cassandra?" Vivienne asked her when she noticed her stare. "Do not be afraid to speak freely."

"I have a question," she declared. "And that is whether it would be considered insurrection to continue pursing the position of Divine independently of the Inquisition."

A clumsy clink of glass sounded as the Inquisitor almost spilled wine over the lip of her glass while pouring it, Vivienne laughed, and Leliana's eyebrows darted upward in mild surprise.

"Heavens, no," said Vivienne. "How could it be? This is an election, is it not? Though the Grand Consensus are the sole voters, they are always receiving news about whatever goes on outside the Grand Cathedral and anyone is welcome to influence said news. But my dear Cassandra, you are always so very bold! So straight to the point. You'd set all of Orlais blushing in a second. I suppose that's why you were so reticent at the Winter Palace?"

"I suppose so," Cassandra half-heartedly uttered. She took a drink from her glass, one just a bit too large to be considered modest. She was going to need it.

The Inquisitor returned to her chair. "It is as Vivienne says," she confirmed while settling back down. "I'm no tyrant. You are both welcome to make use of the Inquisition's resources as you see fit. Horses for travel, amenities for guests, our ambassador for diplomatic arrangements. I do not intend to wage war against my own friends. There is no Divine in the Sunburst Throne, and until there is, the Inquisition is officially beholden to no one. Not even my support of Madame Vivienne is deemed 'official' in the traditional sense."

"We would prefer to keep things clean, open, and civil," Vivienne added. "Divine is a holy position of the highest degree, and must be treated with utmost respect. Just as well, I cannot picture myself up in arms against either of you. Camaraderie runs far too deep now, I'm afraid. I would not see the unity of the Inquisition placed in jeopardy, if it can be helped. What are your thoughts, Leliana?"

She pondered a moment. "I think it is a noble standard to aspire to."

"Wonderful. And you, Cassandra? Might you agree?"

"I can appreciate it."

The Inquisitor then raised her glass, a small smile forming on her lips. "Then a toast; to a civil competition, to continued camaraderie, and to whomever becomes the next Divine."

Glasses were lifted, some more enthusiastically than others.

**.**

**-][-**

**.**

The metal toes of Cassandra's boots tapped against the steps as she descended them; the lavender light of dusk upon her and the chill of the approaching night creeping into her clothes and skin. The tavern was already aglow, and faint music strummed on a lute drifted through an opened window, as did the scents of foods and ale; both enticing, but brushed aside for the task at hand. In her hand was grasped her completed letter to the Seekers (finished after further, multiple distractions that had left only the very last bit of the afternoon for the task), folded properly and only awaiting a wax seal with the Inquisition's insignia to proclaim its legitimacy.

Haunting her for the entirety of the afternoon, and into the present, was a brief exchange between herself and Leliana shortly after their midday group disbanded.

"What did you think?" Cassandra had asked Leliana. They had been walking at a distance far enough to remain unheard by either the Inquisitor or Vivienne. "In truth?"

Leliana never averted her eyes from her path. She had stared intently forward, and an almost bitter expression ghosted across her features. Her answer to Cassandra's question was as quiet as it was razor-sharp, "I saw the Game."

"As did I, and I am hardly familiar with it."

Indeed she had. The time spent listening to what Vivienne and Trevelyan had to say might have only incriminated the Inquisitor further. It was an obvious attempt to placate Cassandra and Leliana. Not only did the proposition to keep their competition 'clean' impose heavy restrictions on their abilities to match the advantage Vivienne already had with the Inquisitor at her side (although Cassandra was fairly certain that it was more in fear of Leliana's response), but it also essentially threatened to label them temperamental or barbarous if any grudges were held. From a position of an advantage these conditions were almost inconsequential, but from a position of lower altitude they were a blatant, additional burden.

In essence, it was their attempt to smooth over the inexorable process of making Vivienne Divine. To rid the playing field of any nasty surprises from her competition, all while remaining in a positive light should anything unsavory occur. After all, no  _tyrant_  would be so benevolent as to allow the rivals of her champion free access to the Inquisition's resources. Such was Trevelyan's implication.

 _If I were a fool the Inquisitor would see me thanking her for being so generous_ , Cassandra thought with irritation.

Eventually Cassandra arrived at the doors leading into the war room, but that was not her destination. While glancing down at the letter in her hand, turning it over a few times to make sure everything was in proper order, her free hand busied itself with pushing open the first door and delivering a quick, courteous knock on the second before entering. She strode into the ambassador's office with her eyes still upon the letter, vaguely noticed the presence of a merchant with whom Josephine was speaking, and meandered over to one side at a respectful distance to await the conclusion of their conversation. Cassandra inconspicuously rested the back of her head against the edge of the large red tapestry, taking the moment as a respite from a strenuous day. For her, combat and physical labor were easy matters—but diplomacy and tact were different things entirely, and always rapidly drained her tolerance. It was good fortune that the last encounter of her day would involve someone not so demanding.

After a few more minutes the merchant thanked Josephine and took her leave, allowing Cassandra to approach her desk. The ambassador, exquisitely clad in her familiar gold and wearing just enough jewelry to make any diplomatic acquaintance feel respected, yet never out-dressed, exchanged a cordial greeting with Cassandra before she presented her letter. "I need this sent through... atypical means," Cassandra explained when handing her the correspondence. "It is addressed to a place where Leliana's ravens have never traveled, and it is beyond the range of where I am willing to send her agents. However I don't require anything extravagant; just a common armed courier on a swift horse." She reached into a pocket to retrieve and unfold a map with a circled location. After laying it out for Josephine to see, she lightly traced an approximated route with a fingertip. "Just south of the Gamordan Peaks, on the road to Mont-de-glace."

Josephine was intrigued by the abnormality of her request. "Well, I can certainly have that arranged, but..." She brought out a small stick of red sealing wax and a metal seal boasting the Inquisition's unmistakable emblem, to be primarily used on official documents and post addressed to nobles. The wax was held to a candle's flame. "If I might ask, who will I be sending this courier to?"

"Seekers," Cassandra answered, seeing little reason to keep her business a secret. "A small group contacted me, and I have a reply for them. Since the nullification of the Nevarran Accord and the subsequent massacre of the majority of my order, survivors are reluctant to come out of hiding. There is much uncertainty at present. We are not sure if we still have any official authority anywhere." She paused to watch the first blood-red drops of wax falling onto the back of her letter, pooling into a tidy circle from the experience and mindfulness of Josephine's hand. "And with no Divine as of yet, none know how the Chantry, the crowns, or even the public at large will receive them. Which is why I intend to invite them to Skyhold."

"Does the Inquisitor know?" Josephine asked. She applied the metal seal to the hot wax, allowing it to remain there for several seconds as it cooled and hardened.

"She will," was Cassandra's reply, accompanied by a small, nearly undetectable smirk. "When they arrive."

Her words brought a smile to Josephine's face. She could not resist the enjoyment to be had from successfully maneuvering through systems, whether it was her doing or another's.

The Seeker continued, "Trevelyan specifically said I was free to use the Inquisition's resources to accommodate any guests I please. I do not believe she will disapprove, based on those grounds."

"If anything, she'd try to insert herself into your conversation," Josephine agreed in good humor. "The Order of the Seekers would be quite a boon."

A sound of mild disgust escaped Cassandra's lips. "Please, do not even speak of the notion."

The next five minutes or so were dedicated to the writing of specific instructions, detailing how the letter was to be delivered, and to whom. When Cassandra finished scrawling out the information she passed it on to Josephine. The note was set aside along with the letter itself.

"It will be sent out tomorrow morning," promised Josephine. With a quill in hand, she made note of her commitment. "I can also have someone send word to you once the courier has left the hold, if you desire."

"I would appreciate that," she agreed. Cassandra thought to leave at that moment, but when she parted her lips to bid the ambassador a good night, she hesitated. In the end, different words replaced her initial plans. "...I have a question, regarding what Trevelyan would have you do in the center of  _three_  separate parties all competing for the same goal. Has she told you to remain unbiased?"

"She didn't have to," replied Josephine, tilting her quill to insinuate a small shrug. Clearly, she was incisive enough to know exactly what Cassandra referred to. "It may come as some surprise to you, but I am doing extremely little for Vivienne and the Inquisitor. All that was ever asked of me was the composition of several letters, but beyond that they haven't shown much need for my aid. In all honesty, I'm unsure of whether I should feel a bit insulted or relieved. Perhaps they'd prefer to micromanage their affairs just between the two of them. As for Leliana... well, she rarely needs my assistance in matters of diplomacy. As we know, she has her own tactics, so to speak."

"I see," said Cassandra. She was mildly perturbed to hear that Vivienne and Leliana were faring well, but overall she was admittedly unsurprised. However, she did not allow that vexation to manifest in her tone; of all people deserving of witnessing her ire, Josephine was not one of them. The ambassador had always been a very kind sort, mild, calm, and clever at her job. Cassandra doubted she could ever recall a time when Josephine had said something even slightly unreasonable. Thus it had been extremely difficult to believe Leliana when she claimed that Josephine could wield the effects of written word with more skill and deadliness than most warriors could their physical blades. Surely such a feat was impossible, she had thought. At least,  _far_  beyond the reach of her own capabilities.

"But I do remain available to all of you," the ambassador said. "If you are ever in need of an arrangement or advice, I can provide it. I  _am_  an advisor, after all."

Cassandra gave a small, somewhat wry nod, anticipating that she would likely be finding herself in this very room soon again.  _I am no diplomat,_  she recalled saying to Leliana the previous day.  _Nor am I the master of a well-connected network._

Indeed she was not.

"I thank you, Lady Montilyet," she said to her. "And I bid you a good night."

Josephine smiled. "To you as well, Seeker Cassandra." She returned her attention to her desk and resumed her work.

Whether it was intentional or not, the appellation  _Seeker_  placed in front of her name brought Cassandra great comfort as she departed. By no means had she been searching for validation from anyone, but it was nevertheless inexplicably pleasant to hear the word Seeker on another's lips and used in a positive connotation, as if speaking it had confirmed that the order was not completely dead or notorious for its failures. If _Seeker_  was still an honorable title to carry, their redemption was very much within reach.


	3. Day 4—Day of Blood

_Seekers of Gamordan,_

_I pray this letter will reach you soon and without incident._

_In answer to the questions present in your letter, I am indeed in possession of the Book and have read the majority of its contents. Against tradition, I would see every Seeker become aware of its secrets due to the alarming nature and sheer amount of those bound within it. No longer can our order declare our purpose to be the unveiling of truth when we viciously deny it to ourselves._

_Although custody of the Book has shifted from former Lord Seeker Lucius Corin to myself, I do not lay automatic claim to the title Lady Seeker. It is a position best appointed to the most qualified of the remaining Seekers, which can be determined only when the remnants of our order have convened in a number reasonable enough to authorize a vote. If this course of action seems wise, I would invite you all to take refuge in the Inquisition's central stronghold where we can safely continue this conversation._

_With the Seekers of Truth at the very edge of death, it is imperative that those who yet live attempt to reach out to other survivors. We must assemble to determine the future of our order, whether it results in a rebirth or its ultimate destruction. That much is our responsibility to the Maker and to the world._

_The gates of Skyhold are open to your arrival._

— _Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast_

**.**

**-][-**

**.**

Near Skyhold's main portcullis assembled an entourage, all preparing their horses with enough equipment and supplies to comfortably last them for the next few days spent in the cold, coniferous valleys of the Frostback Mountains. Even Cassandra stood among them (perhaps involuntarily), loading a small pack onto her own steed and slipping leather straps through metal buckles. Beyond having little interest in the excursion as it was, her dread was already surfacing due to a certain chill in the air, carried on a breeze ghosting throughout the hold, which brought to mind omens of increasingly dismal weather upon their departure.

The Inquisitor had called a hunting trip. Their main quarry, she had said, were great bears. And apparently the hunting trip was entirely for pleasure, if such an attitude was possible to maintain when facing a roaring creature whose claws and fangs could shear most metals into ribbons with a single strike. Despite the likelihood of gruesome injury, the Inquisitor was very much excited to leave the hold if only to recreate a semblance of the exhilaration felt through the serial dragon-slaying that had found its way into her favorite activities, or  _obsessions_ , if Cassandra was consulted.

Cassandra still vividly recalled the first time they ever slayed a dragon. The unbearable heat, the booming, shrieking roars, and having the wind knocked from her lungs after being brutally swept aside by a mighty tail. And when the beast lied dead at last, no instinctual satisfaction flooded her veins at all—not triumph, not captivation. Only relief for the battle's end, and then, a sudden and painful memory of Anthony.

Whatever passion she might have harbored for fighting these beasts died along with him, it seemed. She could no longer identify with the genuine thrill that dragon-slaying brought to, specifically, Trevelyan and the Iron Bull, but time and growing familiarity with them both made her suspect that it was merely a byproduct of their personal perceptions of glory.

So proud was the Inquisitor of their successful dragon hunt that she had Josephine arrange something of a dinner and simultaneous gallery party, with the dragon's severed head as the main attraction. Nobles traveled from all over to view this tasteless evidence of the Inquisitor's prowess. Though Cassandra attended out of respect, the trophy reminded her far too much of her home country's fascination with death and the macabre in general, and it consequentially spoiled any chance she had at enjoying her meal that evening.

However, that night was also one of the miraculous few instances where Trevelyan's limitless pride spared Cassandra from the attention of the nobles when they began inquiring about the battle itself, assuming the Inquisitor had delivered the killing blow.

In truth, it had been Cassandra who plunged her blade through the high dragon's jaw and into its skull, sending the beast violently thrashing and flailing within clouds of dust and sprays of pond water until its last breaths had been taken and spent. At the party the Inquisitor had been decent enough to open her mouth, meaning to correct the nobles, but as she did she caught notice of Cassandra slowly shaking her head while issuing her a meaningful, severe stare. In the end, Trevelyan was more than happy to be the recipient of praise and both of them implicitly declared it a mutual victory of sorts.

Many more high dragons subsequently fell to the Inquisition. And Cassandra had the misfortune of participating in  _all_  of the hunts, a decision justified by Trevelyan's insistence that Cassandra provided 'the good luck of a Pentaghast'; a phrase much detested by Cassandra herself. It only further aggravated the irony of, in theory, having encountered and slain enough high dragons for the Pentaghasts to begin revering her as one of their famed dragon hunters. Thus some days she wondered if her blood was merely cursed rather than a medium for the  _good luck_  Trevelyan described, and so it was an immense relief to see most kills accredited solely to the Inquisitor.

And even when the hunting only involved bears Trevelyan still insisted on bringing Cassandra along for reasons unknown. In this particular instance, however, the reasons were not as nebulous as usual. A perceivable rift had formed between them as of late and it would not be so unreasonable to assume that Trevelyan was attempting to reconcile them through some wholesome forced companionship. Whether it would be effective in the slightest was yet to be seen.

As Cassandra finished preparing her horse, she heard the sound of another individual of its kind approaching. She turned to see the Inquisitor and her horse trotting up to her, weaving through others of her entourage before leisurely slowing to a stop. Trevelyan was completely packed and ready with her eyes shining just as brightly as her armor.

"Chin up," quipped Trevelyan when she arrived at Cassandra's side, looking down at her from where she loftily sat upon her mount. Upon inspecting the Seeker's maintenance of a frown, she wryly twisted her mouth and said, "Maker, you've been so very glum lately. I thought you'd be happy to leave the hold for a while—catch some fresh air and excitement, all that." She unslung a bow from around her shoulder and tossed it to Cassandra, who caught it with minimal effort. "How's your marksmanship?"

Cassandra briefly examined the weapon, acknowledging that Trevelyan could have been more unaccommodating. She could've handed her a staff, after all.

"Sufficient," Cassandra decided, lowering the bow. "But if you wanted a marksman, why not bring Varric or Sera in my stead?"

Trevelyan scoffed, bunching up the reins in her hand when she noticed her horse becoming a tad restless for a moment. "They're not nearly as compelling company. Sera's, well,  _Sera_ ; and Varric's still a tad sore with me. He's been that way ever since Adamant."

"I can't imagine why," Cassandra muttered, making no attempt to conceal her sarcasm. She continued in a normal volume, "Nevertheless, there are many others better suited for hunting. You would think with all the swordsmen along you intend to have us  _wrestle_  the bears."

A thoughtful smile found the Inquisitor's lips. "Maybe I simply want to be accompanied by those I enjoy most." A hand extended downward and was laid upon Cassandra's pauldron, followed by the subtle lowering of her voice. "I realize that you are currently holding my actions on trial, suspicious of my intent... But you must know that I am very fond of you, and I could not bear to inflict upon you an injustice as the one you surmise. It is my hope that nothing dire comes between us."

 _Ah_ , Cassandra thought,  _there is the confession, more or less._

When Trevelyan's hand remained where it rested almost patronizingly for a mere second too long, Cassandra rigidly shrugged free of her touch.

"Inquisitor," she flatly began, "you have done a great service for Thedas and you are a hero to countless people. I would fight to the death in defense of both you and many of your deeds, but that does not mean I cannot be angry with you." She hoisted herself onto her horse, and from her perch in the saddle she exchanged a stare with Trevelyan; neither speaking, and neither conceding even the faintest hint of surrender or hurt. Too many times had their conflicts ended in this brittle silence. One day, Cassandra grimly predicted, all propriety would shatter and shame them both.

Only Cullen's good sense of timing spared them from one another. He came striding toward the area before the portcullis, leading his horse by the reins until he joined them without the faintest inkling as to what they had been discussing.

"It appears that the hunting party is fully prepared now," he reported, pausing to pat Trevelyan's mount on the side of its thick neck. He handed her a spare longsword before slipping his foot into a stirrup and pulling himself onto the back of his horse. "Ten heads in total, including ours; tents, blades, and enough provisions to last us through any emergency, Maker forbid. We can depart whenever you please, though preferably soon. More wolves than bears and rams out at night, as you know."

Cassandra sent a gaze over her shoulder, surveying the party steadily coalescing behind them and judging their level of preparation to be verging on luxurious.

The Inquisitor's call to ride out had her returning her eyes to the raising portcullis and the snowy peaks beyond, at which their party ventured forth at her order. Most hastily pulled their cloaks on over their armor when met by the icy air sweeping across the mighty gray-stone bridge.

**.**

**-][-**

**.**

The hunting party had been assembling all morning, Josephine observed from where she stood overlooking the busy congregation, just outside the tower housing Leliana's area of operation. Beside her stood the spymaster herself, arms folded onto the short wall and peering down with equal interest at the scene. Both had agreed that the Inquisitor's planned excursion was little more than an ostentatious camping trip, but as far as the Inquisitor's excursions traditionally went, it was by far more tame.

"How many bears do you think they'll bring back?" Leliana asked, smirking at the sight of Trevelyan tossing a bow to Cassandra. It might as well have been a broken tree branch, judging by how she insipidly clutched it.

"Oh, I don't know—two? Maybe three? Provided the first ones don't injure someone," Josephine guessed, and she paused when a thought occurred to her. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought Cassandra didn't enjoy hunting."

"She doesn't," confirmed Leliana.

"Then why is she along?"

"To my understanding, Trevelyan is attempting to appeal to her again. She didn't do so well on the first attempt two days ago, so I'd imagine this is simply another opportunity to get back on her good side." Leliana clicked her tongue in amusement. "If Cassandra had only refrained from showing her hand, I doubt she would've been conscripted into this. She will  _never_  learn..."

Below them, Cullen was seen approaching where the Inquisitor and Cassandra waited.

"Speaking of Cassandra," Leliana spoke again, albeit quietly, "what has she been up to?  _Campaign-_ wise?"

The ambassador smiled, giving a soft, entertained laugh. " _I_  know that  _you_  would know everything about that already. Is this question just to see if I'm keeping everyone's business confidential when you come asking about each other?"

Leliana returned her smile, communicating her guilt through simple nuances in the expression. "...Calling Seekers to Skyhold will definitely get the attention of nobles and clerics," she said, turning back toward the grounds as her brow lowered in thought. "That is, if Cassandra publicizes it. But I doubt she will. It is in her nature to be modest about her achievements, although sometimes that only accentuates the grandness of them. That they were noteworthy enough to penetrate her discretion is extremely telling, wouldn't you agree?"

A nod. "Quite telling."

"Cassandra has played a significant role in massive events and the Grand Clerics remember them well," Leliana continued. "In that arena I believe she even trumps Vivienne and myself... but I doubt it will be enough to persuade them into electing her. Her reputation is that of an esteemed warrior with a history of heroics and that alone is impressive, but it does not satisfy other important qualities they'd prefer to see in the next Divine. Meanwhile there is myself; well-known but not particularly glorious save for peripheral involvement in the Fifth Blight, with most of my other exploits intentionally kept secret. Nightingale is a title of inherent discretion. Yet with the deaths of so many former Grand Clerics at the Conclave, the vast majority of their successors are younger and more progressive-minded. Meaning, overall the composition of the Grand Consensus somewhat leans in my favor. But then there is Madame Vivienne. An unexpected surprise, but she has the support of the Inquisition as well as the ability to masterfully play the Game. If she makes herself appealing to the Grand Consensus— _especially_  if she's presented as a compromise or solution to the mage crisis—Vivienne will likely begin to control the race entirely."

"It could be anyone's game at this point," Josephine observed, eyes a bit wide with interest at the deluge of information. "At least, based on what you're reporting."

Leliana nodded, quietly adding, "I am very concerned about it."

A chilly breeze rudely swept past them, sending a shiver down Josephine's neck and making her regret not bringing her coat. At that point the double portcullis had begun to retract into the front rampart, exposing the bridge beyond the hold's walls and the narrow trails leading southward, into the valleys that once housed Haven. She watched the hunting party leave, keeping her eyes trained upon their horses until the last had passed through the threshold and taken its first steps on the bridge. The faint mechanical sound of chains slowly lowering the spikes of the portcullis into their depressions in the stone pathway was barely audible over the sporadic winds. She lifted her hands from the cold stone barrier and brought them together, intent on warming them.

"So how have you been, Josie?" Leliana asked her, prompting Josephine to turn in her direction once more. "Lately, I mean."

"Of course, I have been keeping quite busy," she replied, absent-mindedly playing with her necklace by pinching one of the smaller jeweled disks between her fingers. "Although I admit I anticipated a reduced workload after the defeat of Corypheus. Suffice it to say that hasn't been the case, especially with the issues involving the Chantry still requiring our attention. I  _would_  say the sooner it is resolved, the better... but Divine is no ordinary position, and is rightfully delayed until complete certainty is achieved. Other than that, plenty of notable families and dignitaries are trying to strengthen their ties to us and the Inquisitor wants to keep as many friends as she can possibly carry. An odd goal; while we may still prove useful to those in need of our assistance, our need for noble support is nowhere near as great as it once was. In light of the Inquisition's inevitable dissolution, it makes little sense. "

"Is it so inevitable?"

"Is that not what became of the Inquisition of old, once its purpose was fulfilled?"

"It was," Leliana said. "But we are not the Inquisition of old."

The grim insinuation left Josephine with no reply.

**.**

**-][-**

**.**

In the fiery light of the fading day the massive beast lied dead, cradled by a bed of half-melted snow and pine needles. Several arrow shafts jutted from its hide, some broken, some still intact, and fur was matted around gaping wounds in its tender underside where blades had carved deeply and drawn blood. The skinners were moving in with sharp knives in hand, surveying the kill and planning the best method to approach such a large animal as their superiors looked on.

Cullen, with his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, chatted mirthfully with the Inquisitor, who had passed her bloodied greatsword on to be cleaned by another member of their hunting party. She and the commander sounded quite pleased. Cassandra, from where she stood a few long strides away with her arms folded, overheard the phrase  _an excellent kill_  uttered in Cullen's voice.  _A magnificent creature indeed,_  Trevelyan had replied, grinning, before turning her gaze back to the carcass soon to be bereft of its skin. Although bear meat was quite gristly, they agreed on, taking some of the finer cuts and curing them was deemed worthwhile. And the claws, and the fangs—those treasures were not to be forgotten under any circumstance.

The messy task of extraction taking place before their eyes did not seem to overly disturb them.

A handful of idle hunters were soon told to begin setting up camp nearby, in a visible clearing where the snow was exceptionally thin and the terrain fairly level. They began removing the tents from the horses, rolling them out and planting stakes in the ground before tautly draping the canvas over the frames. Cassandra preferred to watch them instead of the bear.

She sighed as the minutes rolled on, already feeling exhausted by the trip in a mental sense; while Cullen and Trevelyan certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves, as the pair tended to with their history of dallying, Cassandra could not help but feel as if her presence was pointless in terms of function. Sure, she had contributed to the hunt, but in her absence the beast would have been felled all the same. Perhaps the Inquisitor mistakenly assumed that Cassandra would have fun solely in the exercising of her sword arm, but such was not case. It was only fortunate that the Seeker had brought along a book to keep herself entertained while the rest of the hunting party marveled at the lovely corpses of slain wildlife.

While they continued to do just that Cassandra oriented her body in the direction of her horse, deciding it a good time to initiate her reading in a spot of gentle sunset-light bleeding through the trees. But she had not taken three steps before the Inquisitor's words found her ears, stopping her abruptly.

"Cassandra, would you mind scouting a bit ahead?" came the request. "I believe there's a decent vantage point nearby. Tell us if you can spot any more game—ram, druffalo, what have you."

Curtly she dropped her plans, unquestioningly compliant only because very little had been asked of her during the trip thus far. Instead of retrieving her book she mounted her horse and motioned for two other scouts to follow her. Three pairs of eyes were better than one in spotting game, and the sooner they finished the errand, the sooner she could recline and read in peace.

They too climbed into their saddles and dutifully followed the Seeker between the pines, the hooves of their horses falling quietly against the frosty ground as they left the rest of hunting party behind in search of the vantage point their leader spoke of. Weaving through the trees and circumnavigating thistle-brush took the better portion of ten minutes before they happened upon an incline, traversing it to the peak where they halted and were greeting by a wide vista, crisp and clear and open. Distant mountains created the horizon with their white peaks and black veins of exposed rock, and the view dropped into a valley dense with more pine and snowy drifts. Each member of the scouting party scanned the area for signs of animal activity, but no herds nor lonesome beasts were spotted amongst the trees.

A moment before Cassandra would have declared their task fruitless, her eyes suddenly narrowed at a strange sight; a dark wisp of smoke trailing above the pine, silent and ominous. She fixated on it.

"You," she said to the elven woman beside her. "Can you investigate that?"

"I can," said the scout. She promptly dropped from her horse's back and donned her hood.

"Do not let anyone see you."

"I won't, my lady," she assured Cassandra, then sped down the slope leading into the valley, boots shoveling out small mounds of snow as she beetled away.

Soon she was beyond their range of sight, leaving Cassandra and the remaining scout waiting in wonder and unease. Fingers toyed with the brooches fastening their cloaks around their collars as wary gazes were ceaselessly cast about, eager for the return of their comrade. As time went on the tendril rising above the forest thickened and blackened further while Cassandra's patience decreased twice as quickly. Her hand was upon her sword's hilt.

At last a gray-clad figure was spotted hurrying back up the slope, messily plowing through the snow again in a maddened, frantic dash. The moment the elf reached them she threw off her hood, the tips of her cheeks and nose glowing a delicate pink from the cold, and quickly reported in horror, "Lady Cassandra, a caravan down there is being raided!"

She did not hesitate. At once she commanded them to ride; the scout jumped onto her horse, and the trio bolted forward into the valley whilst drawing bows and blades. Maleficarum were present, the scout breathlessly informed Cassandra as they thundered toward the source of smoke. Likely remnants of the rebellion, hiding and preying upon vulnerable travelers in addition to what wildlife they could subsist on. Look for them, she said, as well as several of their sword-wielding allies of ambiguous origin.

"Prioritize the safety of the caravaneers," Cassandra ordered. "Take out the mages first if possible, stay behind me, and  _do not stop moving._ "

Cloaks whipped about in the wind generated by their haste. As they drew close to their destination the sounds of fighting could be heard; screaming, loud bangs of erupting spellfire and metal clashing against metal. The scouts fitted arrows into their bows and pulled them taut, leveling them at flashes of color skipping between the trunks of pine as they briefly circled the chaos, searching for a favorable point of entry.

When the line of trees opened up Cassandra led them into the fray, wasting no time in sweeping her sword down and across the chest of a maleficar aiming a spell at a defending caravaneer. Past burning tents, overturned wagons, and recently-killed combatants they rode. Arrows dully whistled through the air, finding mark after mark as the Seeker led them through and out of the battle's heart, closely pursued by her scouts until they rounded back for another strike.

Their enemy had been caught utterly by surprise during their first assault—a sudden ambush of stampeding horses, their riders cleaving through a significant portion of their number before leaping over the low brush and coming back for another culling. Their second assault was completely anticipated, but no amount of preparation could halt the advance of so experienced a warrior. When Cassandra led them in again their charge was met by a burst of fire, deflected downward by the Seeker's shield when she lifted it on reflex. The flames scattered to the ground, converting snow into hissing steam. Hooves pounded through embers flickering on pale grass.

Cassandra spun the blade in her hand once, channeling the sheer intensity of battle before swinging it in a powerful arc and slicing yet another chest open. White was stained red, and dying bodies dropped.

To her dismay, within all the confusion her scouts had broken their simple charging formation and were left to dodge incoming attacks and let arrows loose on their own, although still faithfully obeying the advice given by Cassandra;  _to not stop moving_.

The advice gave them additional armor, but not invulnerability. A bolt of lightning tore through the thin air and struck the elven woman in the leg, marring the flesh as much as a sword would and eliciting a sharp cry of pain through gritted teeth. Her next arrow, vengefully pulled back as tightly as she could manage in its bowstring, pierced the neck of the one who had wounded her.

Those few mages who still remained had scrambled away, fleeing the wrath of the unexpected third party. They went to the hostages they had taken, realizing the futility of their position and resorting to cowering behind living shields.

"Be gone  _now_ , or I turn this one's head into a fine mist!" a surviving maleficar snarled, pressing the tip of his red-jeweled staff against the temple of a trembling man in blood-stained velvet. Behind him, his fellows had herded the caravaneers against a range of tall stone. Nascent flames flickered from their staffs and hands, poised to scorch them all at a single word.

The threat nearly gave Cassandra pause. She pulled on her horse's reins, stopping the mount dead in its tracks and sending it into a rear, yet she held on tightly and with trained ease. There could be no hesitation on her part. With a dozen lives so unceremoniously dropped into her hands, she could not afford to allocate a single moment to superfluous thinking.

At once she acted—raising her sword toward the maleficarum and calling upon the powers bestowed by the spirit in her bones. A purifying light shone true, and all those with lyrium coursing through their veins suddenly wrenched horrifically in witness to it as if they were malevolent shadows banished by the first rays of dawn. They writhed, twisted, and gave choked screams as the burning agony brought them to their knees. Staffs clattered to the ground and pleas for mercy erupted almost instantly. Their blood was boiling in their flesh, searing their insides.

Cassandra gave an immediate order to her scouts to take them out. One after another the tortured voices were silenced, allowing Cassandra to finally sheath her blade and dismount.

She approached the frightened travelers with the destroyed caravan at her back, still burning and exhaling the blackest of smoke. She extended a hand to the man in velvet. He took it, staring in awe at his rescuer and her companions when staggering weakly to his feet.

"I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast of the Inquisition," she said to him, projecting her voice so that all other survivors would hear as well. "We are camped not far from here, and you are welcome to travel alongside us for protection. Carry the wounded up first. The Inquisitor will see to their care. As for everyone else, salvage what you will but do not overly burden yourselves. We will return later to find some of your fled horses and recover bodies of the dead."

Cassandra nodded to them, having little else to say. She turned away to partake in her directive, and everyone present soon followed suit.


	4. Day 6—Day of Glory

_My dear sister,_

_I write to allay your worries. I am very much alive and safely within the walls of the Inquisition's stronghold, enjoying their generous hospitality until one of their merchant caravans disembarks for Orlais. We will accompany them and I am certain I will be home before the month's end._

_Truly, the Inquisition's higher officers are of legendary quality! I have never felt such a powerful sense of awe as I did yesterday, when none other than the famed Cassandra Pentaghast came leaping to the caravan's rescue on horseback, as if the extraordinary woman had been sent by Andraste herself to save us. It was an otherworldly experience. Sunset at her back, confidently seated upon her rearing horse as she drew her sword and by some beautiful divine providence, commanded a holy light that set mage-blood aflame! Oh how the maleficarum shrank before her, writhing on the ground like lowly earthworms!_

_It was magnificent, my sister. It was something out of a painting, like cousin Clémence's wonderful frescos she paints for the Chantries in Val Royeaux. Last night I even sketched out the image in my memory and had it sent in a letter to her. Perhaps I can convince her to paint Seeker Pentaghast as a gift in thanks? I do wonder if she would like it._

_Maker bless Cassandra Pentaghast. Bless her and all who stand with her. I would not be alive if she had not come to our aid._

— _Dominique_

**.**

**-][-**

**.**

As it happened, the caravan attacked by the maleficarum had been transporting several cases of giant tusk ivory, some uncut and proving quite burdensome to carry, but most already expertly crafted into lovely trinkets, statuettes, and dinnerware. It was all being imported into Ferelden, and eventually to the markets of Denerim where the richest of nobles would pay many sovereigns for each individual piece.

Somewhere in Orlais, the owner of the highly expensive wares might very well have been rejoicing over the salvation of his investment.

They held a somber Andrastian pyre for the dead that night, over which Cullen volunteered to preside and commend their souls to the Maker. But with the additional responsibility of protecting a dozen or so unexpected guests, and with so many injured to some degree, the Inquisitor saw little choice other than ending the hunting trip prematurely and retreating back to Skyhold. The very next morning they began up the trail from whence they came a day previously, traveling back through the pine and weathering the occasional snow flurry.

The finer select treasures from their single bear was all the hunt yielded in terms of its original objective, and it was modest cargo indeed. Much of the bear's mass lied where the beast fell in the forest, now picked apart to the bones by ravens and other scavengers. While Cassandra was quite content with the exiguous yield, she could tell by Trevelyan's intense reservation that she was terribly inconvenienced yet unwilling to actually express her disappointment. The Inquisitor could be shamelessly self-centered, that much was true, but she was not completely without a heart. It might have been calloused and largely unresponsive at times, but when challenged it always somehow proved its existence at the very last allotted moment; although whether that was enough for redemption was up for debate.

The wounded did not slow their party overmuch. By the middle of the second day they appeared on the white horizon, were keenly spotted by those posted on the battlements, and the portcullis was raised for their admittance. Into Skyhold trotted the lively officers and soldiers of the Inquisition, and among them the weary survivors swaying atop horses and leaning against offered shoulders. They were immediately tended to. Blankets were wrapped around shivering bodies, letters written to families were sent out, and warm bowls of stew were placed in trembling hands. Space in the infirmaries was made, as well as cots, tents, and bedrolls wherever they were available.

All seemed to be faring well. Despite arriving too late to save any of the caravan guards, Cassandra was able to acknowledge that she had at least managed to save a decent number of the noncombatants, and did not allow herself to dwell on what might have been. She made peace with the outcome, and was satisfied to witness the recovery of those she successfully defended, while likewise enjoying the comforts of a hot meal thawing the lingering chill in her flesh.

But in yet another twist of irony so intent on plaguing her throughout her life, few people in her surroundings left that peace undisturbed. So many approached her with questions and unsolicited lionizations, corrupting the true story further each time it was told and recounted until the hold became an uncanny microcosm of the world's treatment of the story explaining how Cassandra became Divine Beatrix III's Right Hand. By the middle of the afternoon, Cassandra felt her shoulders growing tense when she heard whispers claiming that the number of maleficarum she fought was three times as many as in reality, and that they were all using blood magic.

"What a  _gallant_  thing you are!" Vivienne had even surprised Cassandra when passing by, bearing a genuine smile as she praised her. "Entirely stealing the spotlight in one fell swoop… I almost wonder if you planned this. Well-played, my dear."

The Seeker's experiences lent immense credence to the ubiquitous truism, that no good deed ever went unpunished.

She did not understand it. How was this any different than all their past occasional rescues of innocents while traipsing about the countryside? Had the hold already exhausted the tales of Corypheus's fall, causing everyone to become positively  _starved_  for new excitement and just as eager to latch onto any story whose contents were remotely worth repeating?

To her great dismay, not even the sweet-hearted Josephine could resist the temptation to accost her. Before Cassandra even rightly knew what was happening, she was being herded into the ambassador's office and into a comfortable chair from which she listened to Josephine's appraisal of the event.

"I  _know_  you've noticed," Josephine said, pacing from behind her desk and her eyes alight with involvement, "But everyone has completely blown this story out of proportion. I don't believe it was so much for the deed as it was for the  _framing_ , if you will. To the caravan's survivors, your actions were miraculous in timing and execution. And this perspective is only amplified when we bring the owner of the wares into account. I asked the merchants who it was, they gave me a name, and I conducted the appropriate research."

Still the ambassador smiled, pausing to evaluate Cassandra's expression. When she found it to be devoid of everything but respectful attentiveness, she continued.

"The owner of the caravan is an Orlesian nobleman named Jean-Hervé Descoteaux—a  _nephew_  of Grand Cleric Aurélie."

"Well, I am sure they are pleased," said Cassandra upon realizing that all the raving had been possibly justified by the sole fact of the merchant caravan belonging to a distinguished member of the Orlesian aristocracy.

The underwhelming response to the fantastic news had Josephine perplexedly asking her, "Yes, but… aren't  _you_  pleased?"

"I suppose I am," she confessed, though uncertain of how much.

"I admit," said Josephine, not losing any of her cheer but allowing her confusion to be patent, "I thought you would have been quite happy with the outcome. Within just a week or so Descoteaux will hear of these gilded tales and accredit the security of his priceless goods to  _you_. Also, consider the families of these merchants; some are in close relationships with the Chantries of Val Royeaux, and they  _will_  repeat the words of their living relatives to members of the clergy. Imagine what could come of this—so many stories steadily accumulating, depicting a certain Hero of Orlais yet again being present so _conveniently_. This is not of the same magnitude as your past involvements of course, but it will reopen conversation, which is just as valuable for your pursuits. The way they described you fending off your enemies is distinctly evocative of holy imagery despite it only being an extension of your abilities as a Seeker, and it is unlikely that many will ignore it. Divines are often elected through the influence of augury just as much as politics."

Cassandra indulged in a pause, bringing her hands together in thought. Josephine's counsel, though unsought, was generous and well-meaning; and she was finding herself appreciating it, even if she  _had_  considered politely excusing herself from the ambassador's office shortly after being brought there. Eventually Cassandra emerged from her silence with her voice having dropped in volume. "What I did to those mages is not an ability I use liberally," she said, unwilling to allow Josephine to subscribe to harmful, misconstrued details. "If I had seen any other viable option at the time I would have taken it; not because I wished to spare the lives of the maleficarum, but because I would have rather spared them that pain. The last time I was forced to utilize that ability was a long time ago, when dealing with a rogue templar. There came a point when a physical struggle clumsily replaced our blades. I still remember grasping his face in my hands, hearing his frantic screams, and seeing the imprint of my palms and fingers seared into his flesh."

"I see," Josephine said, her tone sobering from the account.

The Seeker grew pensive again, perhaps even contrite. "I am not gentle with my enemies, I know," Cassandra said. "But when I have marked an individual for death with certainty in my intentions, I become very adverse to the idea of unnecessarily complicating it. This was a very rare occasion, and that I felt it unavoidable speaks to its uniqueness, yes. If it was the Maker's will that brought me to those people—to save them—then it was a welcomed blessing. But if it was not… then romanticizing this situation would be in deplorable taste." A short, frustrated sigh passed her lips after her sentence trailed off, followed by a muttered, "This entire ordeal is almost impossible."

"What specifically is impossible?" Josephine inquired, watching her closely and very much interested in an elaboration. "Differentiating between providence and coincidence?"

Initially, Cassandra hesitated and glanced to the latticed window at her right. After just a few minutes of sitting beneath its glare, one side of her face had already grown warm from the sunlight pouring through the glass. The heat had noticeably begun to creep down her neck; innocuous, soothing, and particularly benevolent after recently emerging from the cold Frostback wilderness.

"Although I continue to vie for Divine, it is not easy to go about it in a way that will preserve my integrity," she began, concluding that if there was anyone within Skyhold suitable enough to be the confidante for her concerns, it was the ambassador. "Leliana has suggested that I make clever use of my opportunities—such as this one, likely—but even if she is right, I  _must_ be careful not to exploit them. I cannot be too ambitious, but I cannot be too humble. However the line that demarcates the two is so very thin in this circumstance, so very elusive and as difficult to walk as wire. With that said, I utterly refuse to sit by and fail to seize fate, yet… I face the complication of keeping my actions entirely earnest."

Josephine gave a small nod as she wrapped her mind around the Seeker's statement. "I believe I understand. You want to win the election on the merit of who you are and who you will be if placed on the Sunburst Throne, and not the grandstanding, false aspect that ambition could fashion. But entering a competition based on presented image and deeds without  _intentionally_  manufacturing these instances would be paradoxical, if not impossible."

"Yes, precisely," Cassandra said with some relief, pleased to see that she had been understood. On her lips fleeted the first smile that had taken residence there since the previous day. "A position of such holiness deserves at least that much from me."

"Well…" Josephine pivoted her body, loosely folding her arms across her midriff before pacing a few steps and pondering the situation. "The solution to this dilemma may be simpler than we'd think. Allow me to ask you something. Are you happily receiving the special attention you've been garnering in the aftermath of the caravan incident?"

"I am not," she answered. "I merely did what was required of me. Any honorable agent or soldier of the Inquisition would have acted similarly."

"And what of your letter to the Seekers?"

"What of it?"

"Was it not sent immediately after the Inquisition privately declared support for Vivienne?" Josephine inquired. When Cassandra appeared nonplussed by what seemed to be an accusation, she clarified. "Despite its timing, it was done exclusively for your order and had nothing to do with Divine, correct? You see… I wonder if being earnest and acting in ways that inevitably draw attention have to be mutually exclusive. I am not so convinced. Consider a scenario in which time was reversed but you retained preemptive knowledge of what would come. Would you save that caravan again, knowing what attention and possible favor amongst the clerics it would bring?"

"I would, without hesitation," said Cassandra, her reply as swift and sure as the sentiment it contained. Suddenly, the intensity of her expression softened upon realizing what Josephine was implying. "…I see. So long as my actions serve some purpose beyond myself, even if I am also benefited, they cannot be hollow."

Josephine smiled. "Perhaps it can be a good thing to actively seek out opportunities where people across southern Thedas can be aided. I see little harm in a potential Divine demonstrating the ways in which she can serve her people. If her deeds are genuinely beneficial and if she plans to continue once she ascends the throne, I would actually encourage it." She grew quiet, as if receding into contemplation again; recalling something Leliana had remarked on a few days previously and finding it completely relevant and useful to the conversation at hand. "If I may make a suggestion," she said, "I know you're interested in contacting the remaining Seekers of Truth. You intend to rebuild the Order, correct?"

"I am hoping that will be the outcome, yes."

"Why not publicly summon them to Skyhold? Why not post notices on Chanter's boards in every major city and township, so that not only will many Seekers passing through or living quietly in the area see them, but also the Chantry itself?" Josephine's face was lighting up again, eager to see Cassandra agree with the audacious proposal. "Just think of how _dramatic_  it would be; bold, striking posters stamped with the official emblem of the Inquisition, calling for the rebirth of an ancient order of immensely skilled warriors. All gathering in the Inquisition's hold, symbolically the place of their first inception, where they will reunite under new leadership and revitalized virtues to better serve the world for ages to come."

Cassandra managed a smirk, mildly amused by the grandiose stage the ambassador was setting up. "It would hardly be so exciting, but a significant event nonetheless."

"Orlesians  _adore_  hyperbole," Josephine reminded her. "Tales of magnificence and intrigue. Resurrecting the Seekers of Truth might just polish the sheen of glory they're painting on you, to use a metaphor. It will speak volumes of your initiative and put on display yet another entity destined for greatness that Cassandra Pentaghast personally declared. If you succeed, there will be many people who wonder why you're  _not_  Divine yet. Especially so if you become the Lady Seeker."

The faint smile once gracing Cassandra's lips vanished. She cast her gaze to the floor, speaking from her thoughts. "It is strange, to picture myself leading the Seekers. I might even say disconcerting, but I know that is not wholly true. I would unflinchingly carry that burden if it is placed upon me... and I suppose the same could be said about the position of Divine. I know my capabilities. I know I am competent enough to lead. The only doubt I generally face arises when I ask myself if I am what is  _needed_. For in my heart I know myself to be a force of action, and as I'd like to believe, a dispenser of merciful justice and order when necessary. But I see myself as little else. During the formation of the Inquisition I knew I did not possess the inspiring presence required of the Inquisitor; and so I never once attempted to step into the position meant for Trevelyan." Cassandra looked up and found Josephine's eyes again, silencing herself from revealing further musings. "We shall just have to see what happens."

"Indeed," Josephine agreed. She allowed a lengthy pause to come between them, providing a moment for their thoughts to settle. "I'd imagine that different groups require different leaders. If I may provide my own opinion, I think the occupation of Lady Seeker would suit you very well, if you desired it. As for Divine... even the most well-informed conjecture is liable to suffer inaccuracy. All we can do at this moment is quietly campaign along with the other candidates. Speaking of it, what would be your verdict on assembling the Seekers? Would you be willing to make it public?"

"I do like the idea," Cassandra confirmed. "It is both honest and effective."

Josephine was pleased by her answer. She returned to her desk and reached for her quill. "Excellent," she said, dipping the tip into the inkwell and applying it to parchment. "If you have time today, start thinking of ideas for the contents of these notices. We can begin a first draft sometime tomorrow."

Cassandra appeared as if she were about to say something, but halted herself.

"Is something the matter?" Josephine asked when finding her hesitance curious.

"I... I am no writer," Cassandra confessed, coming off as a tad alarmed by the task. "But I will try to produce something acceptable."

The ambassador briefly and softly laughed. "That is absolutely no problem at all. Simply make note of what you mean to say to the Seekers; there is no need to embellish anything just yet. If you can provide the central message you wish to deliver, I can dress it in terms needed to catch the eyes of nobles. And of course, nothing will be printed without your approval. This is, after all,  _your_  project."

After rising from her seat, Cassandra gratefully gave a small bow of her head. "Thank you, Lady Montilyet. You have been a tremendous help."

"You are quite welcome, Seeker Cassandra," said the amiable Josephine. "I must admit, although I do enjoy meeting with the legions of aristocracy and dignitaries for the most part, lending my skills to a prevalent candidate for Divine is quite exciting."

"You do not feel guilty for aiding a rival of Leliana's?"

"Actually... I think she approves. Between you and me, if I recall correctly she said to me yesterday, 'Cassandra would appreciate political help; in a race so underhanded as this, drowning is always a hazard when one does not know how to swim'."

Cassandra stonily frowned and muttered before taking her leave, "I'm sure that is precisely what she said."

Josephine watched Cassandra depart, noting the mild aggravation in her step instilled there by Leliana's comment. Unlike the Seeker, Josephine's mood had greatly improved at the end of their discussion. Although, she could not prevent a tiny sense of disappointment from permeating her thoughts when she reminded herself that the circulating tale of Cassandra's ride into the midst of many maleficarum was much more glorious and engaging than it was in reality. It was quite a pity, she thought, for she too was guilty of being exceedingly fond of such exaggerated, Orlesian-friendly tales.


	5. Day 7—Day of Ink

_Subjects of exceptional importance:_

— _Addressed to all living Seekers, regardless of rank and seniority. All will be given a voice in determining the fate of our Order._

— _The Chantry no longer has jurisdiction over the Seekers, since the Nevarran Accord's nullification. But that does not mean we have abandoned our purpose and responsibilities._

 ~~_Do we have the available resources to provide escorts_ ~~ _Why would Seekers need escorts? No, that would be embarrassing._

_Ask Josephine if we can spare gold from the Inquisition's coffers as rewards for information regarding locations of Seekers._

— _State the existence of too many secrets being kept from the Seekers by their Lords and Ladies. However invidious the truth may be._

_C.P._

**.**

**-][-**

**.**

Bare fingers, callused and lightly scarred by many abusive years, fished the note from a pocket and unfolded it; smoothing out the tidy creases until the paper no longer naturally refolded in on itself when released. Cassandra briefly reviewed her written words with her forehead practically pressed against the wooden door while the warm light of sconces flickering at her back, until impatience ultimately overwhelmed doubt and brought her hand up. She briskly rapped her knuckles on the wood, as was the usual courtesy, before grasping the door's metal handle and admitting herself into the ambassador's office.

Josephine, whose dedication had made some regard her as permanent of a fixture in her office as the furnishings, was found hard at work at her desk beside a candle's flame meant to stave off what remained of the early morning's feeble light. When Cassandra entered Josephine looked up at once to see the woman treading within, carrying subtle formality in her step as she approached, and traveling through broad shafts of sunlight shining through the latticed windows until she came to a stop before her desk.

"I half-expected you to be the Inquisitor," Josephine remarked, momentarily setting her quill aside to receive her guest. "Few others pass through at this hour."

The absence of Trevelyan's lighter, leathered steps removed from the metallic weight of armor had been the first sign that her visitor had not been the Inquisitor but Cassandra, dressed and cloistered in her cuirass, with her sword snugly tied to her belt and her black-studded gloves tucked in alongside it; perpetually ready to leap to arms at a moment's notice with countless other common soldiers in their armies.

"Am I too early for your convenience?" Cassandra asked, her hands clasped together with uncertainty, but her brow lowered in inquiry.

"No, not at all," replied Josephine. "Have a seat, if you will." She rose from her chair and gestured to the chairs set before the fireplace, where three logs roasted and pleasantly warmed the vicinity. Cassandra moved in the indicated direction and Josephine followed, happy to take the opportunity to relocate to an area where her hands were not so susceptible to the winter's last frosts for the year. Even within the great walls of the hold, the cold had proven a pervasive nuisance that slowly crept upon her until tiny shivers strummed along her tendons and threatened her penmanship. When both had seated themselves, Josephine glanced down at the fresh piece of parchment she had brought with her, titled it appropriately with a few strokes of the hand, and turned to meet Cassandra's eyes. "So, may I ask how the remainder of yesterday went?"

"Tolerably," answered Cassandra. "The scouts I fought alongside the other day have also received... attention. From what Commander Cullen has told me, the elven woman suffered an injury but will fully recover within a few weeks, and the young man, who is barely eighteen years of age, was championed by his comrades in the barracks." She held the list she drafted the previous night at favorable angle, collecting enough light to read the words with considerable ease. "…Should we begin?"

"Yes, let's. First, with the most important statements—the core message of these notices."

"Foremostly," Cassandra began, "It must be stressed that the invitation is addressed to  _every_  living Seeker, regardless of rank, age, or any other hierarchical quality."

Josephine began taking note.

Cassandra continued, "Just as well, I feel the need to clarify that while the Chantry no longer has official jurisdiction over the Seekers, our purpose and responsibilities have not been similarly dissolved. We still have hallowed duties to perform and tenents to respect. Ignoring them would likely warrant the immediate disbandment of the Seekers of Truth. And… I had also considered the possibility of offering monetary rewards for information that might lead us to Seekers."

Josephine paused to contemplate the proposition, lifting her quill away from the parchment for a time. "Do you think that might come off as coercion?" she asked. "To some it may sound reminiscent of a bounty, particularly if the Seeker in question does not wish to make the journey."

A quick exhale departed Cassandra. In truth she had knowingly neglected to give a second thought to the idea of dragging reluctant Seekers to Skyhold after declaring their actions desertion, as the idea of rogue Seekers freely carrying around a dangerously potent source of Fade-endowed power within their souls was  _very_  concerning. Abuse was far too likely a tragedy and its prevention, which was well within Cassandra's capability, was a paramount responsibility of hers.

"I think it would be best," insisted Cassandra. "If a Seeker truly wishes to no longer be a part of the Order, then they should make a point of it when we decide what becomes of us. We have ancient traditions of high exile when dealing with Seekers who forsake the Order or its creed, and they are still in effect for a reason. The Seekers would shame themselves by apathetically turning a blind eye to potential threats originating from our own ranks."

"Very well," Josephine conceded. "I suppose I would have to defer to your expert opinion on the matter." She added the request to her notes, ending with a listlessness of the hand when forming the final letters that alerted Cassandra to a twinge of exasperation.

"I… meant no personal insult," she said, belatedly considering how the sureness of her tone could have easily been interpreted as aggression or dismissal.

Josephine was quiet for a moment, not anticipating the apology and thus received it with some surprise. It was not in within Cassandra's nature to refuse another an apology where it was due, of course, but she did not expect Cassandra to readily view her slight disappointment as offense. Josephine's response was but a lingering habit obtained during the time when the Inquisition's leadership comprised of several individuals all bickering ceaselessly around the war table; and in being so inured to those conditions, it was still common for her to sigh in weariness at just the faintest remembrance. It was rather difficult to forget the many times when Cassandra and Leliana entirely commandeered the deliberations with their debates, leaving none other than Josephine to insert herself between the two and soothe hostilities.

A hand placed on one shoulder each and a few assuaging statements later, and they would return to civil discourse. It was a remedy administered by someone of Josephine's profession with what appeared to be ease, as she would have all witnesses believe, but in reality the arguments were  _tiring_  and it was an immense relief when the Inquisitor finally took the helm, quelling the threat of extended indecision.

On some days Josephine surprised herself with how successful she was at keeping the advisors together for so long. Cullen, though staunch and resolute in his convictions, was the easiest to placate due to his deference to the Divine's Hands whenever voices rose. Leliana was of similar responsiveness, but only perhaps by influence of a dear friend's gentle request. Then there was the Herald, always opening her mouth to criticize flawed plans and express reckless willingness to solve each situation with a bit of well-applied force or outright bluffing.

And as for Cassandra...  _she_  was always exceedingly complicated and simple, both at once, and therefore responding to reason a bit more capriciously than expected. Cautious yet direct, askance yet credulous, harsh yet considerate, but strangely and distinctly susceptible to the invocation of peace.

There was something very tender within her and Josephine saw it immediately, although at first she wondered if she was mistaken based on what others in her environment had to say about their resident Seeker. A region of softness rested somewhere deep beneath scalding metal encasing her body, possibly hidden and guarded for fear of its destruction if carelessly exposed to the world Cassandra daily confronted, or locked away in a penitentiary sentence for the simple crime of being too impractical. But it indeed existed, and back when she needed to Josephine learned to fashion words that comfortably resonated with it, usually causing Cassandra to pause and eye Josephine in a manner that almost resembled wariness.

It might have been presumptuous of her, but Josephine suspected that noticing her gentler side had inherently gained some of Cassandra's favor. She was so very courteous to her, after all, as if exhuming an entire casket of aristocratic manners whenever in her company, although undoubtedly bewildered at herself for doing so upon leaving. Was it but the response to kindness? Respect for one who never sought to antagonize if it could be avoided, and made it her mission to compromise wherever possible? Accurately defining it was an impossible endeavor. Whatever the reality, Cassandra had identified something arguably sacred in Josephine, even if it was only the understanding of her while having the benevolence to never disturb her for any of it. It was... somewhat endearing.

"It's quite all right," Josephine said to Cassandra's apology. She was still of serious demeanor where she sat just a pace away, as rigid and erect as the minimal armor she wore. "Please, think nothing of it. I would like to have avoided the employment of force, but if you believe it must be done, then I will not further contest it."

Cassandra, whether convinced or still privately dubious, lowered her eyes back to her paper and recited the final point on her list. "We must state the existence of parlous secrets being kept from the Order, the Chantry, and the world at large by our previous Lord and Lady Seekers."

"Well that certainly sounds…" Josephine delicately cleared her throat, "a bit  _lurid_ , don't you think?"

"Perhaps, but also necessary. I suppose it could be reduced to vagueness? That is, if it may rouse too much trouble. I would not want to see the Seekers vilified or feared because of it. At this time we need to present ourselves as worthy even as we carry the weight of our failures."

The soft scratching of Josephine's quill against her parchment led Cassandra to believe that the other woman already had something in mind. "That can be done," she said, confirming Cassandra's suspicion. "It is all a matter of wording—a few delicate terms will ensure the Seekers understand what you're saying, without the risk of alienating the Chantry, or inciting aversion in anyone else who might read the notices. What else?"

"That concludes my list."

With the subjects of highest importance resting atop Josephine's parchment, partitioned off from where their first draft would reside and acting as a unifying reference, she and Cassandra retreated back to the ambassador's slanted desk where a chair was pulled to its side to grant Cassandra visual access. The drafting began at once, first with a variety of suggested openings with more than enough potential to rein in even the most inattentive passerby. Josephine proposed many, either underlining or altogether omitting them by drawing a thick black line through the sentences, dependent on whether Cassandra thought well of one, requested an amendment, or shook her head in pensive distaste.

Regardless of how trustful Cassandra might have been of Josephine's impeccable writing abilities, she remained completely invested in the project; always watching her hand flow across the parchment, and taking advantage of the occasional interlude to quietly read the contents aloud. At times Josephine passed her quill to her when Cassandra politely asked. The ambassador observed the words pouring from its tip—a script of tighter angles than her own gently-curving lettering and evolving words of courser, more direct nature. Before long a few of Cassandra's fingertips bore stains of black, resembling Josephine's own as they appeared at the end of the day. Over time her gaze would idly drift from the Seeker's hand to her dark eyelids, to the knitted concentration of her brow, to her lips forming the words she wrote as if placing her faith in Josephine to correct her if she erred.

When their rough first attempt was nearly completed, Josephine proposed that they replicate the notices in Orlesian as well. A promise of a flawless translation had Cassandra in agreement, at which point did Josephine take the time to begin the effort of translating the lines destined to be found in their final product. She verbally relayed her conversion for Cassandra's benefit, who followed her near-faultless Orlesian with utmost attentiveness. Josephine could tell that she adequately understood the spoken language—having both a noblewoman's education and spending many days in Orlais—albeit without complete fluency. Cassandra's careful statements, constructed after brief moments of silence spent converting her thoughts into Orlesian and still spoken with her Nevarran accent lightly ornamenting her words, suffered few grammatical mistakes.

Josephine dared to believe that she was having a lovely time, and Cassandra was lovely company. She was so very diligent in all that she did, pouring her entire heart into their effort despite it only being a bit of ink and parchment. Her determination was nothing short of admirable, as always, and so it was utter nonsense to propose that Cassandra was not moving nor compelling enough to become Divine, as far as Josephine was concerned. Cassandra's passion was a contagious force indeed, and it was keenly unfortunate when their time ran short in favor of a meeting with a noblewoman Josephine had made two weeks prior, whose company was of decidedly lesser quality.

"Shall we continue at a later time?" she asked Cassandra, exchanging their work in progress for a list of her immediate commitments. "Or... no, never mind." After scanning her schedule she wryly looked up and met her gaze again. "I'm afraid I'll be quite preoccupied for the remainder of the day. So, we can resume tomorrow, or perhaps we can still address the matter of those _secrets_  you wish to inform the Seekers about. Would you be willing to discuss it over supper?"

A raise of eyebrows complimented Cassandra's hesitation, as well as an instant in which she might have been determining whether the invitation was addressed to her, despite the room being completely empty otherwise. "...I would not wish to steal what time for respite you have today."

Josephine smiled at her concern. "Actually, I would enjoy the company regardless. Leliana often joins me, but she cannot today. If you're available, and if you would like to, of course, the offer stands."

Another long pause seized Cassandra. She spent it watching the ambassador's pleasant and hospitable expression—sweet and genuine and presenting no perceivable reason to decline—before eventually giving an angled nod. "I suppose I shall," she said.

**.**

**-][-**

**.**

Josephine had always counted herself fortunate to have access to someone familiar with culinary sophistication. One of the kitchen heads, an Orlesian man in his fifth decade and formerly the proud second half of a partnership owning a restaurant of decent reputation in Val Royeaux, was very amenable to the requests of the Inquisitor and the nobles she often attracted to Skyhold. Naturally, Josephine had arranged an increased pay in exchange for meals of bearable quality.

It was not unusual in the slightest for Josephine to send him a request a few hours prior. Sometimes they were common dishes, and other times they were more specific and complicated due to the finicky, privileged habits of Josephine's company, whether she was entertaining foreign dignitaries or appealing to influential ladies by holding proper luncheons. She had grown exceedingly skilled at predicting tastes even when they were not disclosed to her. Hints were always within reach; the word of relatives, research of their homeland's cuisine, what had been served at past galas thrown in their names...

The goal was always to flatter and impress, and she had become a master of that art.

But as for Cassandra... what  _did_  that woman enjoy, Josephine had wondered? She, like Cullen, were usually only seen eating what the other officers ate—boiled or fried chicken eggs with a side of links or tomatoes in the mornings, spit-roasted ram with vegetables cooked directly over the fires in the evenings (as it was, or as a thick stew), and often spotted midday delving a hand into a barrel of autumn-skinned apples or taking a knife to a cheese wheel. They were the simple, hearty meals needed to sustain a lifestyle of exertion. But did Cassandra  _enjoy_  them, or was she merely eating as necessary?

It was quite the quandary Josephine encountered when preparing to send her request to the kitchens. She  _was_  familiar with at least a dozen Nevarran dishes commonly found on the tables of nobility, but did Cassandra's estrangement from her homeland extend into her meal preferences, or was a humble dose of nostalgia still appreciated? Had she ever tried the paralian delicacies of the Antivan east, whose buttered crustaceans and chowders remained so personally dear to Josephine's heart? Or what of the Marches, where most were content with heavy drink, cabbages, and steaks?

The decision quickly became the ultimate test of Josephine's prodigious intuition.

In the end she arranged something basic but elegant in its minimalism, and met Cassandra in the courtyard when the sun had begun to sink past the jagged line of mountains, robed in lavender in the eve, and soon in soft, tempered deep blue once night came. It was a quaint little table, a bit dainty, painted an innocent white, and granted privacy by a few trees whose branches provided a beam from which to hang a lantern.

The pair sat down to a meal of Orlesian wildfowl, seasoned and seared, with bowls of a vegetable soup and a small plate of bread, thinly-sliced and anointed with butter to keep the appetite sated for the entirety of the night. While Josephine closely monitored Cassandra's reaction to the food, the latter seemed neither enthralled nor disappointed. The only hint Cassandra provided was an expression of her thanks before lifting her cutlery and unconsciously resurrecting more etiquette hammered into her mind during childhood, malforming the illusion of a proud noblewoman. The metal in her hands glinted within the dusk like fugitive ghosts.

Conversation eventually opened up to the discussion of Cassandra's tome, at present locked away and hidden from prying eyes, and ominously waiting in the darkness for the day when its new master returned. Apparently only she and the Inquisitor (and possibly Leliana, as ruling her out often proved a careless and amateurish mistake) knew about some of its secrets, and judging by how Cassandra vaguely explained their gravity, mishandling distribution of the knowledge could easily spell disaster. If and probably when the Chantry came into this knowledge, Cassandra had said, the Seekers could become subject to accusations of subversion. It was very much within the realm of possibility for the weight of the book's contents to burst through the few stitches holding the world together before the healing process was completed, thrusting the south into yet another crisis of religion.

Based on what information Cassandra was willing to provide, Josephine came to the conclusion that  _timing_  could avert the trouble she feared. Wait for the climate to stabilize, she advised. Wait for when a Divine took the Sunburst Throne, and if it was not to be Cassandra herself, watch how her hand guides the Chantry and what reforms—if any—she makes, and only  _then_ begin planning the revelation. Until then, only the Seekers could best safeguard the book and its secrets.

Cassandra approved of the proposition, however subtly remorseful her voice became when discussing the Seekers' relationship with the book, which was dismally nonexistent save for their reigning Lord or Lady Seeker. Opening the tome to them all, she grimly stated, might be a harrowing affair.

"We have all undergone the vigil, yes," Cassandra said, the look in her eyes tremendously meaningful as she laid her cutlery down. "It is a testament to our will, our resolve in the face of adversity. But we are not... unfeeling. I only hope reading it will not cause any of our number to turn their backs on the Order altogether, as I nearly did myself. For a time, I considered being complicit in their interment. I was unsure of whether the Order deserved to be saved."

"You were?"

She nodded. "Trevelyan was the one who convinced me to rebuild them into something better than what they were."

"How magnanimous of her to do so," Josephine said with a knowing smile, watching Cassandra's lips curl into a smirk.

Nearby, the lantern's flame had begun to wane, shedding its dwindling light onto their table along with rich shadows that settled in the severities of Cassandra's features. Josephine watched her smirk gradually diminish, lips fixing back into their discerning line as silence veiled them. At times her eyes would flicker like the lantern, finding hers for a few seconds and seeming to transfer similar, palpable warmth. There was charm about her, in her face, in her eyes, in the proper motions of her hands whenever she gestured, and Josephine enjoyed noticing it.

In a moment, Josephine abruptly recognized just how forward she had been when inviting Cassandra to dine with her earlier that morning, but she admittedly did not know what to make of the impulse in terms of meaning or origin. Would the simplest explanation suffice; that she was swiftly growing friendlier with Cassandra through the thrill of their work? Or perhaps it was a bit more complicated. Maybe it was much alike the fleeting infatuations experienced during her university days in Val Royeaux, where her endless love for people at large and all their eccentricities manifested in a few days of lovesickness, with the onset feeling strikingly like the sudden, inexplicable possessiveness acquired after awakening from a dream in which a specific individual made an appearance. She was certainly acting as if that were the case, in retrospect. But even if it  _was_  the case, there wasn't anything particularly unpleasant about it. In fact, it was refreshing.

She noticed Cassandra stirring, her social skills flailing against the quiet. "I... This was pleasant," she said. "I enjoyed it. And as always, I appreciate your counsel on these matters."

Josephine gracefully accepted her gratitude.

"Also, perchance you have the time tomorrow, we may need to add an addendum to our draft," said Cassandra. "It should be said that the Seekers might return to the Chantry."

"Absolutely," the ambassador agreed. "Although I think it would be best stated with some contingency, say...  _if the conditions are favorable_. If the Grand Consensus hears of this they will interpret the outcome as being reliant upon the state of the Chantry after the election of the Divine. Meaning, if a rival is elected, the Chantry may lose its Seekers for good, and  _that_  has the potential to create a schism in the Templar Order. Not that it's necessarily your intention, but, it certainly creates an incentive to support you."

"All that, off the top of your head?" Cassandra inquired, peering at her with good-humored intrigue. "Dancing around a subject, pulling phrasings and solutions out of thin air?"

Josephine smiled. "It's one of the qualifications listed on my résumé. The one  _you_  personally read, Seeker Pentaghast?"

She was without reply for a few moments, though they were occupied by the faintest of returned smiles. "I can admit to some jealousy. I have never been skilled with words, and I rarely cared to be, until confronted with letter-writing as well as... the arts. I admire literature. The impact of words on the soul, uplifting or enervating, it matters not. At times I attempted to replicate the craft, but I simply lack the natural ability."

"Well if you'd like to improve your skill," Josephine began noncommittally, but perfectly amenable to her own idea, "I may be able to offer some basic advice. I don't see myself as a writer like Varric, but do correct me if I'm mistaken in assuming you'd feel less comfortable asking him."

"You are right, of course," said Cassandra, appearing as though she was actually giving the notion some serious consideration. She soon ceased her wistful thinking with a brief shake of the head. "But I could never impose that upon you, Lady Josephine. You seem to have plenty of matters to attend to as it is, including my own."

Even as Cassandra gave her response and absconded with her personal opinions into silence again, it was easy to see that she had tentatively taken a liking to the suggestion.

**.**

**-][-**

**.**

When it was time to disband, the two gathered up their few dishes to reduce work for the kitchen hands and began traveling back through the courtyard. Cassandra had thoroughly enjoyed herself during the times when their conversation temporary strayed from the Book of Secrets, whose fate and disclosure had troubled her lately. What a burden it was—the origin and nature of tranquility, corruption and cover-ups enacted by previous Lords, notes on lyrium, practices akin to demon possession... the list seemed endless at times. It was heavy burden. It haunted her like a looming curse; almost crying out in a sentient voice, horrible and dour, praying to be read to the world and eclipse it into more dark days of sundered faith. Doubt had begun to fester in her heart, and she  _needed_  to kill it before the disease reached her head.

The respite Josephine had offered was immensely welcomed. She was so very thoughtful and generous, with a personality as warm and golden as her attire and a wit as sharp as her finest quills. When they were not speaking of the Book, their conversational derailments were of such therapeutic nature that Cassandra would often forget the grief contracted just minutes earlier. Even if it was merely from listening to Josephine speak of visiting nobles she recently became acquainted with, or hearing about her apparently laissez-faire-minded siblings. While Cassandra usually detested the sensationalizing of petty interpersonal affairs, Josephine presented them in a way that was both well-humored and genuine. Eventually, Cassandra realized that the ambassador's anecdotes, so very personalized and detail-sensitive, were not dissimilar to the portrayal of characters introduced by novels she delighted in.

As they drew close to the edge of the courtyard they passed standing lanterns illuminating the pathway, curved around a healthy viola plant, and spotted a lone silhouette seated upon the stone barrier—dimly-lit and content to linger primarily in shadow with a wide-brimmed hat of somewhat drooping integrity sitting atop his head. The brim lifted at their approach, exposing a pair of watchful, ghastly pale eyes.

While Cassandra's brow lowered at the boy, Josephine greeted him in spite of his outlandish presence, "Good evening, Cole."

"Good evening," he said in kind.

"How long have you been sitting out here?" she asked him, causing Cassandra to inwardly sigh at their pause to talk.

"A while," Cole vaguely answered. "I was waiting because I didn't want to disturb you. You were having a nice time."

The explanation was dubious enough for Cassandra to ask him, "And just why were you waiting?"

Cole merely blinked at her question, his gaze flitting over her features before answering simply, "I felt it, so I came here." He calmly rose from his seat on the low wall, filling his usual tall, lanky build of imperfect posture. A small, single step was taken toward Cassandra; gingerly and curiously, as if studying some previously unseen peculiarity in the Seeker, who watched him with unrelenting vigilance. When he spoke again, his words came slow and careful like a spool of thread being sluggishly unwound, "It all curdled black. Left like ink drawn cleanly out of parchment, running, evaporating impossibly, but it happened. Faith filled the blanked book, seeped into the pages and brought the words back. Beautiful and brilliant, but it wasn't the same story."

Cassandra never took her eyes off him. She stood statuesque, silently and fiercely attempting to decrypt the combination of words that mysteriously sounded all too familiar. Beside her, Josephine was monitoring the interaction with no small amounts of intrigue and confusion.

The boy continued, his attention seeming to drift, but ultimately fixated on his strange account, "A friend from the Fade, seeking a Seeker, a home in a hero. But never  _Him_. You were afraid that He didn't hear, didn't heed. You were hurting." Cole paused, his tone faltering in a manner that suggested the discovery of something monumentally unhappy. His next utterance was nearly a whisper, "You almost wept."

In the face of the accusation, Cassandra stood resolute and dauntless—and especially so with the ambassador at her side. "Yet I did not. What would faith be, if never tested?" she said, diminishing the implied severity of Cole's observation. "It is strongest only after wavering, as candlelight finds itself to be brightest in the darkest of nights." She made to turn away, but was stopped at the sound of Cole's unexpected response.

"Yes! It  _is_  you, now," he said with enthusiasm. Evidently, Cassandra had inadvertently agreed with something Cole latently stated. "If you read it to the people like you they'll hurt too, and waver, but only for a while, and the flame will not go out. It can't. But if you read it to others, they'll hurt worse, for longer. Too many feelings wanting to come back, too many robes wanting to keep them away; truth burning the blessed blades with benedictions, accusing and asking—is it parasite or paradise?" Another grim pause marked his rumination. "Allies... or abominations?"

Cassandra's stare remained fixed on Cole. The emotion in his pale eyes, mournful and empathetic, drew from a pool of pain that Cassandra denied to be her own. Her circumstance was troubling, but so was much else. Why let this issue take precedence when there were other things to worry about? Surely her distress did not run so deeply, and surely it did not warrant intervention.

"It'll hurt," Cole said again, his voice twinging in prophesized suffering. "It'll hurt."

With her jaw held tightly, Cassandra barely parted her lips to mutter, "We will endure." She shoved the few plates she carried into Cole's arms, turned, and departed only after issuing a hushed, "If you would excuse me," to Josephine.

"I'm sorry!" Cole called after her. "I was trying to help! It's harder when you can't make people forget!"

A door leading into the central hold heavily shut with a thud and clank, leaving Josephine to lay a hand on Cole's upper arm and apologize on Cassandra's behalf.

"I'm sure she didn't mean any harm, Cole," she said.

"I know."

"What you said... Of course, none of it was meant for me, and I scarcely understood a word of it, but it sounded quite distressing."

"It's important," said Cole. "And it's... scary. She wanted to know what to do. Cassandra doesn't want people to hurt, and neither do I, so I thought I could help. I should fix it soon."

Josephine kindly linked her arm with Cole's, extending her compassion to the one who literally embodied it. "Well perhaps you can help me, for now. Would you mind carrying those to the kitchens with me?"

"I will," he agreed.

While descending the lonely, quiet stairwell leading into the kitchens, with his hat grasped at his side to avoid brushing it against the close walls or his companion, and the dishes cradled in his other arm, Cole broke the silence.

"She likes you," he said to Josephine, speaking softly to minimize his voice's impact within the corridor. "She thinks you're sweet, and you make her smile when she wouldn't have."

She smiled at the notion of Cassandra doing the same. "Well I'm certainly glad to hear that. Thank you Cole, that was a very kind thing to tell me."

"Maybe. I don't think she would've told you."

"I know," Josephine wisely said.


	6. Day 9—Day of Poetry

_A notice to all individuals of past or present allegiance to the Order of the Seekers of Truth, and to those who are familiar with any of said Order's constituents:_

_On the authority of Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Hero of Orlais, Right Hand of Divine Justinia V, and high officer of the Inquisition, all members and informal veterans of the Order of the Seekers of Truth, regardless of standing, rank, aptitude, and seniority, are hereby summoned to the Inquisition's central stronghold known as Skyhold._

_In these unique and trying circumstances it has been deemed supremely vital for all Seekers of Truth now independent of Chantry jurisdiction by nullification of the Nevarran Accord to reassemble the Order in a singular location, so that the Order may revise and reconstitute itself. Issues of utmost importance will be addressed by this assembly, such as but not limited to: the designation of a new Lord or Lady Seeker, under what favorable conditions might the Order attempt to return to the Chantry by a new accord, and the possible voiding of the Book's confidentiality, within which contains record and explication of the Order's many involvements since its first inception._

_Voluntarily-present Seekers will be hospitably received by the Inquisition, and given quarters and plentiful amenities during their sojourn._

_Those knowledgeable of surreptitious Seekers' whereabouts are encouraged to write the Inquisition with such information, as their aid will be rewarded with a sum of gold equal to that of three Orlesian royals for each letter disclosing intelligence that proves instrumental in successfully locating and obtaining an individual._

_The behest of Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast is officially justified by invocation of the temporary sovereignty (in the absence of a ruling Lord or Lady Seeker) granted to whomever holds custody of the Seekers' Book, and is thus sanctioned by The Order of the Seekers of Truth's Code and Creed to ordain this compulsory summons._

_[Here the official seal of the Inquisition is stamped, to be accompanied by the signature of Cassandra Pentaghast]_

**.**

**-][-**

**.**

It was a rather frigid, clouded morning casting a single, all-eclipsing shade that threatened profuse snowfall in the near future.

Her limbs were now leaden with weights, and the final strap was pulled snugly. Her hand went to her sword. She wrapped her fingers around the hilt and freed it from its sheath, holding the blade steady for a moment before slowly bringing it up and across in a brief series of experimental arcs, meaning to grow accustomed to the additional strength required to wield it effectively. It was a wise exercise to regularly perform, in Cassandra's experience. Not only did the weights impersonate the burden of heavy armor to be worn by a vanguard, but often they purposely exceeded that weight and aided in the building of enough vigor to reduce the fortress around her body to only a mild encumbrance. Speed would profit as a consequence; a much-needed edge in battle after meeting eyes with massive, maul-wielding hurlocks, which was precisely the result Cassandra desired.

Only a few minutes were spent swinging at the practice dummies with both sword and shield in hand before a messenger entered the area against the far battlement where she trained, treading with sound through the thin grass to courteously declare his presence. Cassandra turned to face him once she noticed, and lowered her arms to allow him to state his business.

"Lady Cassandra," the young man gave a quick bow of his head, then held out a large piece of durable parchment to her. Cassandra took it and stretched it out before her eyes to examine what it contained. "Ambassador Montilyet sends the proposed final appearance for your notices. She awaits either your approval or opinion."

Still drawing in breaths of a slightly labored nature from her recent exertion, Cassandra spent time scanning every word as well as the arresting emblem of the Inquisition found at the bottom of the decree in bold ink—the peerless eye in the center of a sunburst through which an authoritative sword was thrust, lending ultimate validity to the words preceding it. Near it remained a small blank area, where Cassandra presumed her signature was intended to occupy.

As anticipated, the ambassador had done excellent work. It was an effective marriage of Josephine's sophisticated tact and Cassandra's assertive tone of voice, both present in tempering compromise, thus producing a poster; informative, reasonably concise, and destined to seize the attention of countless people passing through the well-trafficked areas where copies would be pinned. Cassandra found herself without qualm.

"Let her know that I approve," she said to the messenger, returning the notice.

"At once, milady. Ambassador Montilyet would inform you that she shall have it reproduced immediately. However she requires your signature... many times, as you would suspect."

Cassandra quietly sighed at the prospect of being seated somewhere for an hour or so, applying her name a hundred times over. But she had indeed expected it. "Very well. When the reproductions are ready I will attempt to make myself available." She made to return to her training, lifting her arms again and preparing to resume striking at the practice dummies.

He nodded at her answer, but halted her. "Also, Lady Cassandra, while I was headed here I passed by Madame Vivienne. She was interested in having a word with you."

A hesitant and wary quirk of the head accompanied her question, "What about?"

"She did not specify."

Yet another sigh escaped Cassandra. Her sword and shield lowered to the ground where they listlessly rested as she began unfastening the weights around her forearms and legs. She pondered what Vivienne could want to tell her, and drew the conclusion that it could not possibly involve anything other than their  _civil_  contest, and if her logic was sound, it also could not involve anything particularly beneficial for Cassandra. As much as they might have respected one another, hearts were irretrievably submerged in the drive to succeed, and there was little mercy to be given whenever an opportunity was identified. With her weights having been shed from her body, she reluctantly left her training area behind to make her way toward where Vivienne was most often found lingering.

In contrast, the previous day had granted Cassandra far more time to herself. The majority of interaction had occurred between her and Josephine when Cassandra appeared in her office that morning, bearing a small apology for her sudden departure the night before when Cole had obviously displeased her. Of course, Josephine was not offended in the slightest, and instead passed on a message from Cole explaining his good intentions as well as the hope of mending any wounds he might have accidentally inflamed rather than salve.

He had done no such thing, Cassandra had said. And he hadn't. If anything, as she realized late into the night, Cole had merely unearthed something that might have putrefied within Cassandra's subconscious if left unaddressed, and highlighted the severity of the threat it posed. But his sympathetic words had not sufficed, as much as he had wished to help. For although Cassandra always resolved to confront issues immediately whenever possible, the trouble haunting her at present was the challenge of going about it—a feat she alone had to impeccably perform.

Truth was absolute. Truth was inevitable. As was the fate of the Book, its contents unleashed and wild upon the world and all effects, good or ill, being unavoidable. There was nothing to do but make peace with reality, but doing so was simply not aligned with who Cassandra was. She was not compliant with what she deemed unacceptable. She acted, she solved, she  _fought,_ and to merely stand down and let history write itself was an utterly daunting notion with which she had little experience if any.

When she met with Vivienne, Cassandra found the mage where she expected to; leisurely seated at the balcony with an opened book as she awaited her guest's arrival. The book was marked and shut to welcome Cassandra when she set foot on the final step of the staircase.

"Good morning, my dear," Vivienne pleasantly greeted her. "Please, do have a seat." She gestured to a chair across from her hand before folding her hands neatly over one silk-clad knee.

Cassandra did as requested, settling down in the seat bathed in what pale light the clouds admitted through them that gloomy day. A dull glint edged the ornate metals framing the chair's back and armrests. When she sat, Cassandra noticed several traveling valises resting against the ivory-hued side of the divan Vivienne currently occupied. She found them interesting.

"I understand you wanted to speak with me?" Cassandra asked her.

"I did," said Vivienne. "You see, over the past several days I have been planning a trip to Val Royeaux. I intend to assess the state of what loyal mages remain there and lend my assistance in organizing them into a more coherent body. My efforts have been largely pledged to the Inquisition for a quite a while, as you know, but I still consider it a responsibility of mine to act accordingly in the continued absence of an official Grand Enchanter. I'm certain you sympathize with my predicament."

"I can," Cassandra admitted, although she now wanted to know if the Inquisitor had been monitoring her work with her Order and informed Vivienne of it. Josephine was unlikely to have told Trevelyan, but the messengers and couriers, however... they had absolutely no right to silence when questioned.

Vivienne did not reveal anything further about her apparent knowledge of Cassandra's affairs. Instead she continued, "And as it happens, Inquisitor Trevelyan is going to accompany me as far as Halamshiral, where we shall briefly attend a garden party hosted by Cyril de Montefort—one of the Council of Heralds, as you recall. While the Inquisitor means to stay in Halamshiral for a few days before returning to Skyhold, I will continue on to Val Royeaux where I suspect to remain for at least a month or so. I tell you these details because I would invite you to join us, for any portion of the trip and to any of its destinations. However you please. I personally find a presence in Val Royeaux to be most agreeable at this time, and I'd imagine your discerning sensibilities would arrive at the very same conclusion. After all, the Grand Consensus has been intently prodding you and Leliana for some time now to make the journey there. Would this not be an opportune time to answer their pleas?"

"Is Leliana to accompany you?"

"She declined when I offered, as a matter of fact. A mistake on her part, she will find in time."

The purpose of the question had only been to sate her curiosity. In truth, Cassandra already knew what her answer would be regardless of who was attending. But just as well... while Cassandra often disagreed with Leliana, she had never denied the spymaster's preternatural awareness of impending danger. Cassandra lacked this natural ability and could not isolate and define a source of iffiness as swiftly, so if Leliana had good enough reason to refuse Vivienne's invitation, it would be wise to err on the side of caution and follow in her footsteps.

"It was generous of you to ask," Cassandra began, "but I'm afraid I must decline as well. There are matters here requiring my attention and I cannot leave Skyhold for the time being."

"A pity," Vivienne said. "Such visibility within the beating heart of the Chantry would be beneficial for anyone. Nevertheless, I wish you well in the matters you mentioned. For if any endeavor surmounts a timely pilgrimage to Val Royeaux in importance, your success must be absolutely imperative. Are you positive I cannot persuade you?"

"I know with certainty that it would be best if I remained."

"Very well, I shall no longer attempt to dispute your decision. The best of fortune to you, my dear Cassandra."

"To you as well, Madame Vivienne," Cassandra replied.

**.**

**-][-**

**.**

Cassandra left Vivienne's company in a haze of thought, fingers balling into loose fists as she headed toward the stairwell. Times such as these only fueled her fiery perception of the Game being despicable, foremostly for how its players would obsessively deny their peers the briefest glimpse into what they truly thought of them. Honesty was mythical. It was replaced by frequent oscillation between friend and foe, and sometimes it was completely impossible to determine which of the two a person was. While Cassandra was familiar with the basic and most dangerous mechanisms, she had never invested rigorous study in the much-maligned custom, purely out of distaste whose intensity made her grimace as if she had tasted something sour. Consequently, she hadn't the slightest inkling as to whether Vivienne's offer was genuinely good sportsmanship or a well-lain trap.

But to what end, if a trap? Perhaps to bring attention to their contrasts; to wade into the midst of those verminous  _hyenas_ —nobles—with Cassandra at her side, only to effortlessly charm them all with grace and cunning while Cassandra stood seething in silence? Just what would a party of council members and relatives of clerics think when seeing one of their strongest candidates frowning deeply at the crowds and prolifically drinking their wine in vain hopes that it might goad out an ounce of charisma? It would not end well, of that she was certain. She knew herself well enough to predict the misery and damage it would inflict upon herself, her appeal as a candidate for Divine, and possibly the party's other attendees if she ever snapped and throttled one, which would become a frighteningly likely scenario after imbibing the aforementioned wine.

_I do not wish to think ill of Vivienne_ , Cassandra thought.  _But there are few as savvy as she when it comes to exploiting the weaknesses of her rivals. In this case she would strike a significant blow against her competition without lifting a finger, her hands clean of fault. For I would be the sole cause of my own undoing._

She passed through the archway leading to the stairwell and a single foot was placed past its threshold before Cassandra detected a second person heading to occupy the very same spot. She halted at once to avoid a collision with a figure in gold, who she immediately recognized as Josephine. The ambassador was in the process of leaving the library with three books tucked in her arm, and undoubtedly making the return trip to her office. When she met Cassandra's eyes so suddenly, her surprise quickly receded and was replaced by a pleasantry.

"Oh—Cassandra. Good morning."

"Good morning," Cassandra returned her greeting. She said nothing else, having been ejected from her musing and thrust into a new interaction without any warning. She hadn't words quite yet.

"I suppose this would be an excellent opportunity to inform you that your notices are being reproduced as we speak," said Josephine. "If you are able, could you possibly come by sometime this evening to start signing them? That way we can have them sent out as they're finished."

Cassandra answered, "I shall," and the two began walking abreast down the stairs leading to the central hall, their silhouettes confined by the tunnel of ancient, impressive masonry. "...May I ask what books you're carrying?" she asked, intrigued by a glance cast at one book's ornately-lettered title.

Josephine looked down at her readings to present each to Cassandra along with a description. "These first two," she said, sliding one a bit to the side to reveal the work beneath it as well, "are meant to help me brush up on my Starkhaven history. In a few days I will be entertaining Lord Kentigern Graeme, a man as proud of his heritage as he is of his own hunting prowess, I'm told, and I must perform well in showing his homeland due respect since I would rather not try to gain his favor over... sport. And this last one..." A small smile found her lips, present as though she had been caught doing something forbidden. She passed the book to Cassandra. "That one is for my own pleasure, once I finish skimming the first two. It's an Antivan volume of celebrated poetry from the Storm Age. Untranslated, as you'll find."

Cassandra had begun leafing through the pages as Josephine stated so, and true to her word, the language filled the pages from cover to cover, completely uninterrupted by any other tongue.

"Do you know the language?" Josephine asked Cassandra when the Seeker paused to focus on a particular page.

She wryly smirked, still peering at the text. "Hardly. I can introduce myself and initiate small talk, but one shouldn't expect much more from me than that." A single hand gently shut the book, mindful of its age and value before returning it to Josephine.

When they reached the main keep Cassandra opened the door for them both. Cassandra's passing interest in the books reminded Josephine of something their conversation of two days ago briefly touched, and while weaving through the chatty congregation of visiting nobles and various contacts, she turned again to Cassandra and said to her, "Speaking of poetry and literature... Are you certain you aren't interested in private lessons of that craft? I could tell you were fond of the idea, and the only reservation you confessed was the worry of imposing upon me. But I wouldn't mind in the slightest."

The faintest guilt-ridden smile crossed Cassandra's face as they entered the ambassador's office. While closing the door behind them, she kept a single hand pressed to the wood and a few fingers upon a cold metal band. The action softened the click as the door shut into the frame. They were now sealed away from the din of voices outside, allowing Cassandra to admit in a quieter volume, "It was an idle fancy." She strode a few paces in before slowing to a halt, and Josephine went on to approach her desk and set the three books down in an unoccupied space on its left side. "I cannot see how any amount of tutoring could elevate something that was never there in the first place," Cassandra spoke again. "And I don't know how pleasant it would be to feel as a child being taught her grammar all over again."

Josephine nearly laughed at the image. "Oh, it doesn't have to be that way," she said, humor still curling the corners of her lips. "It can be fun. It  _should_  be fun, in your case.  _Never_  a chore. You see... I believe that one can compensate for pure natural aptitude with  _passion_. Find your love of the arts, cultivate it, and never stop. It worked for my sister Yvette, so it's not impossible in the slightest."

"You have already been generous enough to assign a fair amount of priority to my business with the Seekers," Cassandra explained. "I doubt that furthering my self-centered pursuits would be a constructive use of your time, and I can't see myself voluntarily wasting it."

A slight cadence of incredulity affected Josephine's voice when she said, "I don't see how furthering your overall happiness could be a waste of my time."

"...My happiness?" Cassandra echoed. She sounded as if the phrase was entirely irrelevant to their topic, and its presence had brought her confusion. Her hands gravitated together, unconsciously wrung as she peered at Josephine in question.

"It's no secret that you tend to neglect it," the ambassador said and spent a moment adjusting the books she left on her desk, nudging them with a few fingers into a neater and more orderly stack. It was a bit of a nervous habit, brought on by some intimate emotion squirming within her chest. She privately chastised herself for needlessly fretting.

"That isn't wholly true," Cassandra tentatively disagreed. "I am happy when I see nations at peace, when innocents are free to live their lives without fear. So I merely see my personal happiness as a long-term investment, and with perseverance I will see the returns in time. "

Her claim made Josephine smile anew, as Cassandra's sheer humility nearly verged on absurdity. How could one possibly say such things without losing any sincerity? There was no doubt in Josephine's mind that Cassandra was indeed speaking from her heart, acting in service to truth as always; an ideal of variable grace and consolation, certainly, which lent Cassandra her bluntness and deprived her of meticulous social skill. But it had also bestowed upon her qualities of unrivaled splendor, found in her faith, in her unwavering passion, in the way that Cassandra positively _emanated_  valiance and honesty. She was so very appealing to Josephine then, causing her to idly wonder if only equally unassailable individuals ever captured Cassandra's stare, tugged at her heart, and settled into her inmost affections. She also wondered, with more concern than the former musing, if her harmless infatuation was destined to last longer than what was typical, for it was becoming apparent that she was still quite some time away from surfacing back into normalcy of mind.

Josephine set aside her thoughts to finally respond. "You," she said, lightening the mood with a jovial, veritable tone, "are one of most selfless people I have ever encountered, and it would be futile to try to tell me that you do not deserve of a bit of joy now and then." When she noticed the Seeker growing uncomfortable in the attention being given to her, she summarized, "Cassandra, you don't need to sacrifice every waking hour of your life to the greater good. You  _can_  take some time for yourself on occasion."

By her kind words Cassandra was flattered, though unsure of whether she could follow their example. For a while, she said nothing.

Seeing that she was still unconvinced, Josephine decided to pull a string she knew to lead somewhere more fruitful, "A Divine must compose speeches. Perhaps the skill can be applied there?"

Her quiet dispersed after one last moment of consideration. "I suppose I could not refuse your offer in that case," Cassandra said.

Josephine felt her heart pleasantly twist when she noticed a ghost of a smirk on Cassandra's lips attempt to embolden itself into a larger smile, but it was kept tame and subtle. What a treat it was, to watch the little bits of evidence of her excitement fleet across her features, terribly ephemeral and all the more valuable because of it.

"What are you most interested in?" Josephine asked her. "We can start there."

Although she had miraculously permitted herself to indulge in something even more impractical than reading novels, Cassandra was unprepared to answer the question. She thought on it for some time, gradually making her way over to Josephine's desk where she lowered a hand to the Antivan book of poetry resting at the top of the stack, and lightly ran her fingertips along the olive-dyed buckram hardcover and the smooth golden lettering. She appeared to be admiring, in abstract, whatever enigmatic blessing had found the many authors within and granted them their elegance with naught but a pen and a yearning soul. She tapped the book once with an index finger, still gazing wistfully at the cover while answering at last, "I would like to be taught poetry." Her eyes lifted to find Josephine's, speaking as if issuing a friendly challenge.

"An excellent choice," Josephine said, finding her decision tasteful and rising to meet the alleged challenge. "I'm by no means a poet, but I'm familiar with numerous styles and meters. I believe I can be of some help, so long as you're willing to write it often enough."

"You don't intend to explain certain... mechanics first?"

Josephine shook her head. "I think a more organic first approach is healthier."

"You do realize that anything I write at this time will be nothing short of atrocious," Cassandra cautioned her, looking quite doubtful. "What would I even write about?"

"Surely you have many tales worth romanticizing."

A short, wry laugh managed to escape Cassandra. "Oh yes, I'm eager to commemorate and immortalize the time when a massive wave took our party out into the Waking Sea, leaving us floundering back toward the shore where I discovered that I had lost my boot to the surf. I stepped on an urchin. Or how about our Inquisitor's delightful idea to bait a high dragon in the Western Approach, where Dorian was snatched up in its talons and carried along for several seconds until the beast lost its grip and sent him headlong into a dune?"

Josephine was trying to stifle her laughs behind her raised hand, and failing rather dismally. "Those things are  _definitely_  worth immortalizing, without a doubt."

"Perhaps something simpler, for now," Cassandra said.

The request had Josephine detaching herself from her desk and folding her arms to focus on providing an answer. She pondered, spending several long moments glancing about the cozy interior of her office in search of inspiration. The topic could not be so mundane as to stifle the ability to say anything meaningful about the subject, but neither could it be so unique as to unnecessarily confound _Cassandra the poet_  so soon. She paced a few steps toward the window from which she was able to turn her survey onto the grounds, considering trees and buildings and birds in equal measure. Her focus eventually came to rest on the heavens—still moodily obscured by the cloud-cover that imposed deep, brooding shadows over the hold.

"Is the state of the sky a manageable subject?" she suggested to Cassandra, who narrowed her eyes at the dreary weather beyond the window. "Tonight or tomorrow morning, simply check the skies and write down something simple, something quaint. Colors, moods, shapes, light. Maybe a sonnet. Or part of one, or a pair of couplets?"

Cassandra uneasily shifted her weight from one foot to the other, faintly apprehensive with her arms crossed. It was a rare sight. She had adopted the body language of one about to suddenly flee, but Josephine was quick to keep her steady.

"If it would make things more comfortable," she said, "I too could write on the same matter. That is, if it would help."

"That would be... lucrative," Cassandra agreed, unwilling to convey just how much comfort the proposition brought her. "It would certainly provide a point of reference, I mean."

"Then I suppose it's settled," Josephine stated.

Cassandra nodded. After she did, she no longer knew what more to do with herself, and resolved to merely stand as she was, taking a moment to allow their peculiar yet admittedly delightful arrangement to properly sink into her consciousness. A lovely thing might happen, she thought. There was a chance for something to come of this, for her to acquire some semblance of a skill she had only envied from afar but never dared set time aside to pursue. Was it possible to retrain a hand so inured to carrying a shield, unyielding and never deviating from exactitude, into embracing another, more fluid purpose? It was unlikely, but Cassandra committed herself to trying. And not only for her own sake. Josephine, so thoughtful and talented and an absolute pleasure to speak to, deserved nothing less than the full effort she gave to all other worthy goals.

Josephine made Cassandra feel at rest when previously disquieted, and understood even what she failed to adequately describe. She was tender to her foibles and never mocked her for them. Ever the epitome of grace and persuasion, warm and welcoming and dancing through thickets of people's desires and shortcomings; sliding knives from clenched fingers and replacing them with roses and wine glasses, or toppling their enemies with a well-placed sentence and an even better-placed, crimson-kissed glove on a nightstand somewhere. Cassandra felt endeared. The feeling striking her closely resembled the inexplicable stab of pleasure gained from viewing breathtaking art—golden frames wrapped around dreamy vistas and pacifying seascapes, whose clever gradations of color delineated the majesty of the world through romantic eyes.

She could not decide whether to berate herself or find her own attitude humorous.  _You watched her maneuver and manipulate our enemies and allies for months and months,_  she thought,  _and you rolled your eyes at their susceptibility to charm. Yet here you are, victim of the same technique. Shameful._

"Have you heard from Leliana recently?" Cassandra asked when the silence grew unbearable.

"Actually, I had a quick word with her while retrieving these books," said Josephine. "She was in a bit of a hurry, but she mentioned the trip to Halamshiral and Val Royeaux Vivienne has been planning. Apparently, she and the Inquisitor invited Leliana. I wonder why she declined."

"Vivienne invited me as well," said Cassandra.

"She did?"

"Yes, just a short while ago, before I came here. I declined because of the Seekers, but Leliana isn't beholden to such obligations."

"...That is  _very_  interesting," Josephine agreed. "I wonder if she knows something? She always knows something, yes, but is it a  _something?_ Leliana has been quite reclusive lately. I hope nothing is amiss."

**.**

**-][-**

**.**

Shortly thereafter Cassandra took her leave and later returned that evening to apply her signature to each notice. By then the hold was taken by snowfall, prompting Cassandra to pull a cloak around her shoulders before heading out into the twilit flurry, where her boots punctured the thin strata of new snow and braved the chilled steps upward, into the keep where it was warmer.

The ambassador mirthfully welcomed her with a headache-inducing pile of posters before lending Cassandra a space at her desk from which to work. As she did, Josephine opened her books on Starkhaven and read them before the hearth. All was draped in a comfortable silence after they settled into their respective tasks, save for the scratching of a borrowed quill against parchment, the popping of firewood blazing in andirons, and the occasional creasing of pages between Josephine's fingertips as she turned them. Time was measured solely by candle.

When the wax began to pool, a new sound penetrated Cassandra's notice and caused her to slowly lay down the quill. She listened. It was the sound of another quill producing words, albeit punctuating the silence on more irregular intervals. Curious, Cassandra migrated from the desk to the fireplace and pretended to prod at the logs, effectively disguising her investigation. When she passed by Josephine she furtively cast her scrutiny upon her, and saw to her surprise a modest piece of paper wedged into her book, laying atop the opened page and bearing words loosely strung together with others crossed out, splayed in disorder across the page like pieces of a glorious quilt waiting to be sewn together by her expert hand. They spoke of snow and of gloom, as Cassandra extracted during her glance. The moment Josephine noticed her stare, a forearm swiftly obscured the page.

"You've already started?" Cassandra asked, astonished and amused by the scandal. "That is  _entirely_  dishonest."

Josephine, scrambling to retain her poise, stated with composure, "It  _is_  the evening now, you realize. Besides... as a non-poet attempting to pass on knowledge of poetry, I would do well to seem competent." She was smiling at her own explanation, finding much humor in the predicament. In a gentler tone she added, "I need to impress you. To gain your confidence."

A peculiar delight bloomed within Cassandra. It was warm and masqueraded as something tangibly soft, but it was impossible to descry the origin. Was it from lingering so closely to the fire, where proximity poured heat into her hands and soul? Or was it merely from lingering near the ambassador?

_You're tired and delirious_ , Cassandra consoled herself.


	7. Day 10—Day of Fear

_A sky overcast by hues of white and gray_

_portends a very snowfell'd day_

_Cold and unhappy, many beseech the sun now hidden_

_to banish from the heavens this storm unbidden_

**.**

**-][-**

**.**

From beneath, the sound of heavy mallets pounding red-hot steel into shape drifted up toward Cassandra, accompanied by the billowing warmth of the forge and the idle chatter of the blacksmiths; to all of which she paid little heed. For several uninterrupted minutes now she had been staring at the few lines scrawled out in an unsure hand and blemished by mistakes and edits, wallowing in regret for recklessly blundering into something remarkably asinine given her well-known aptitudes for certain things and lack thereof for others. Her hands clasped the sides of her face and her were fingers pressed at her temples while she held her work in contempt, viewing the poem as if its mere existence was highly offensive and incorrigible.

 _I can't show this to Josephine_ , Cassandra thought within a haze of frustration where she sat surrounded by opened reference books, numerous pages with rejected attempts marring them, and a cloth thoroughly used in periodically cleaning her blackened fingertips. So much work poured into a disaster. A few full hours lost to utter failure, to embarrassment. And Josephine, a lady of such refinement and linguistic poise, should not be forced to suffer the coarse words stumbling from the tip of her quill in disgrace.

 _I have to start over,_ Cassandra resolved. _This is profoundly unacceptable._

She finally removed her hands from her face, leaving behind streaks of faint, self-deprecating red where pressure had indented her skin, and she busied herself anew by reorganizing her books and pages in preparation for an entirely new trial. Previous failures were crudely stacked and set aside for later use as kindling, perhaps, save for her most recent work. _That_ crime against art was kept within reach only in anticipation for the likelihood (which was greater than what Cassandra found reasonable) of her next attempt surpassing the last in repulsiveness.

She had dipped her quill into the inkwell and was about to apply it to her bit of parchment when she noticed a familiar voice carrying upward to her position, rising softly but significantly. Cassandra paused and migrated toward the end of her seat, peering over the wooden railing to place the floor within her sights. There Leliana stood below after having accosted one of the blacksmiths, who wiped his forehead out of fatigue before answering her inquiry. When he pointed an index finger in Cassandra's direction Leliana's sharp eyes followed and met those of the Seeker—caught investigating, but undeterred. Instead, Cassandra merely raised an unabashed brow to question the spymaster's unusual departure from her station. Though Leliana gave her nothing in the way of an interpretable response, she approached the edge of the stairs and began ascending them.

Cassandra returned her attention to the table, comprehending her environment and immediately finding the books and rhymes scattered before her too personal to be left to the mercy of Leliana's dissecting gaze. For a few seconds she fumbled about with her papers, hurriedly stacking her books atop the refuse pile and taking great care to shut her one finished (though inadequate) piece within the pages of the topmost volume. The moment she finished rearranging the table, Leliana appeared at the peak of the stairs with her hood and shoulders snow-dusted and her nose pinkened from the chill.

"I need to have a word with you," Leliana said, voice hushed for privacy as she came into the lofty alcove braced against the roof. Either she hadn't noticed Cassandra hastily reorganizing the table's surface, or she didn't much care. It was more likely the latter situation, for which Cassandra was grateful.

"Regarding what?" Cassandra asked her, arms slowly rising into a fold from where she stood at the table's side. It was an odd thing to see Leliana so suddenly, as it was far more typical for the woman to send messengers. Especially as of late. Much aligned with Josephine's account, a few full days had passed since Cassandra last saw Leliana outside her tower.

Leliana seated herself at the table while removing her hood and patting away the flakes of snow still clinging to her attire. "I'm glad to see that Josie has convinced you to let her help you," she remarked.

"Why?" Cassandra inquired. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Because I am in so desperate need of it?"

"That is precisely why," Leliana said. She calmly folded her hands onto the table as if her reply was the simplest, most universal truth that ever existed.

Cassandra glowered. "So tell me, did you come here to insult me or did you actually have a productive conversation in mind?"

"This  _is_  the conversation I had in mind. I need to confirm that you're taking her advisement seriously, and not being as stubborn as you often are."

If Cassandra might have been only somewhat irate moments before, she was now noticeably fuming. "Why are you so concerned about me?" she demanded. She had sought the answer to this baffling question for quite some time now, yearning for a response that did not entail any more of Leliana's insufferable evasiveness. "It makes no sense, to be this involved in a rival's business! What are you trying to do, Leliana? Collect information? Sabotage me while pretending to be friendly? Have the benefits of being a colleague of mine long expired?"

"Do you know why I'm so concerned?" Leliana hissed, urging Cassandra to keep her voice down. "Do you know why I suggested to Josie that you might need help?"

Cassandra was quiet for a spell. "I do not know why," she admitted. "But I certainly would not be opposed to finding out."

A highly cautious gaze was sent around, surveying their environment before motioning to Cassandra to draw closer. After she settled into the seat across from her, Leliana leaned in and spoke in a terribly low volume, "The Inquisitor plays a pretty Game," she whispered. "She's been sending letters to the Grand Clerics, Cassandra. Within those letters are _threats_ —implicit and discreet enough to evade persecution, but obvious enough for the recipients to fully grasp the ultimatums being handed to them. Threats of completely abandoning the Chantry if a Divine other than Vivienne comes into power and rouses an uproar."

"What do you mean by  _abandon?"_  Cassandra asked, vastly interested in what Leliana had uncovered and fearing the very worst.

"Trevelyan predicts, and not without well-founded reason, that most candidates are far too polarizing to peacefully occupy the Sunburst Throne. There's going to be trouble after the Grand Consensus makes their decision. That much is nearly certain. And just who can stand against the tides, with the Templars still inaccessible as a viable force to guard the Chantry, hmm? The Orlesian army?" Leliana scoffed. "Celene would not dare expend what forces have come limping back from her civil war. She's too paranoid about those who now view Gaspard de Chalons as a martyr to risk their wounded numbers. Even if she is willing, these days it wouldn't be outrageous to say she'd heel if the Inquisitor told her to. And just what happens when the heed of the Herald, perceived to speak for Andraste herself, is ignored or dismissed?"

Cassandra constrained herself to silence, having several ideas but preferring to hear the truth outright.

An ominous darkness settled in the depths of Leliana's eyes, pooling thoughts of death and deception. "She turns her head," she answered. "She  _turns her head_  and her forces around with her, and she allows malcontents to claw away at the Chantry's embrittled walls."

"More revolts," Cassandra bitterly concluded. Out of anger she looked away and found herself unable to properly express its extent. A furious hand suddenly slammed onto the table in catharsis, and a rationalization eventually evolved on her downturned lips, "I can't believe she'd do this. It makes  _no_  sense... Trevelyan keeps the Chantry close to her heart and she would  _never_  do such a thing. She must be bluffing. Her threats are completely hollow. They must be."

"True or not," Leliana continued, "the Inquisition has enough clout in the world for  _any_  entity to take her threats seriously. Therefore the Grand Consensus is absolutely  _terrified_  of all controversial candidates aside from Vivienne. These past few days I have been working tirelessly, calling upon my contacts to find purchase in this race yet I can find next to none." Her next words were deliberate, clearly enunciated, and issued slowly, "There is little favor for me now, Cassandra. I know we don't share the same vision for the Chantry, but mine is far more similar to yours than it is to Vivienne's. You'd change things, at the very least. You see the Chantry's flaws and you strive to mend them. This opportunity, with the Chantry broken open and vulnerable—but also the most open to change— _cannot be lost_."

At once, Cassandra grasped the gravity of the situation, as well as why Leliana had been playing the part of a mysterious benefactor over the course of the last week or so. It had all been done out of insecurity, out of fear. Leliana, after all, was a serious threat to any competitor's campaign; striking from the shadows, from afar, in her rivals' most tender weaknesses. Trevelyan had not waited around for her championed candidate to feel the sting of Leliana's tactics, it seemed. With just a letter or two she had utterly decimated whatever preference the Grand Consensus held for Leliana, leaving in its place the immense terror of another rebellion whose looming threat was was insurmountable by any of Leliana's _persuasion_. After acknowledging just how badly she was wounded, Leliana forced herself to feign utmost confidence as she struggled to regain palatability, but not without first investing in what was, in her mind, the second-best alternative should she fail: Cassandra.

"Did Vivienne try to invite you on her trip?" Leliana asked Cassandra, pulling her away from her thoughts to further assess the playing field.

"She did," came her reply. "Though I declined. Just as you did, so I've heard."

"It was good that you declined." Leliana sounded mildly pleased. " _Do not_ fall for their traps. And always assume they're traps, no matter how harmlessly they frame them." Yet again she held their surroundings under heavy scrutiny for a few moments, checking the locations of the blacksmiths and glancing out the windows. "They're preparing to leave," she informed Cassandra. "Trevelyan might come by any minute now to say farewell to you, as she did to me earlier. Not without trying to persuade me one last time into going with her, of course… But do not falter when she tries to play you. Do not stray from your own plans, and do not be too proud to go to people like Josie when confronted by something you cannot handle yourself."

Cassandra, meaning to shake her head and deny being either that prideful or helpless, was cut off by the startling austerity of Leliana's final cautioning.

_"Do. Not. Let. Her. Win."_

Leliana soon departed, swiftly descending the stairs and shortly thereafter spotted from the window emerging onto the snow-piled grounds. She vanished into the keep, easily slipping through strolling foot-soldiers and evading conscious notice of most witnesses to her trek.

Where she stood alone again, Cassandra's head swirled with frustration, and it all finally overflowed from her mind when she slammed the sides of her fists against the window's frame, breathing sharply and viciously and feeling alone, alone. Although Cassandra was far from alone in reality, a sense of helplessness had begun washing over her. How to contend with a woman who had entire countries at her side, she wondered? How to compete with the force Cassandra had poured her own heart into uplifting, investing as much power and influence and permanency within as possible? She detested the Inquisitor's miserly control of the board. But most of all, she detested her reckless dishonesty.

While seething, Cassandra caught sight of another figure heading toward the building. A silhouette in a coat lined with pale fur, draped over the bright glint of silverite; edges visibly softened against the backdrop of winter white. If the attire alone did not serve as an immediate indication of who it was, the haughty stride banished all lingering doubt.

 _Keep walking,_  she growled within her head.  _It would be best if you didn't interact with me today._

True to Leliana's perceptive warning the door below creaked open, admitted forth a burst of chilled wind, and promptly clanked shut again. Cassandra braced herself for the inevitable encounter by retaking her seat. As she awaited her guest she shut her eyes and silently sent a prayer to the Maker, humbly requesting the strength to refrain from throwing the entire table into Trevelyan's face the moment she appeared at the top of the stairs, for Cassandra believed that only an intervention of divine proportions could suppress an urge of such intensity.

Her prayer apparently did not go unanswered. The table's legs remained safely on the floor when Trevelyan came into view, flakes of half-melted snow in wind-swept hair and boots crusted with frost recently trudged through, yet still she carried about a cheery demeanor despite the unfortunate weather conditions.

"Inquisitor," Cassandra flatly greeted her.

"Cassandra, how are you today?" the Inquisitor asked her with a courteous smile, each armored step landing solidly against the floorboards as she leisurely made her way over to the table.

"Enduring," was Cassandra's muttered reply, jaw held stiffly in self-control.

"Still busy seeking the Seekers, I presume?"

"That as well."

Both the long silence extending between them and Cassandra's persistent glare alerted the Inquisitor to something being amiss. Though she possessed no knowledge of precisely what had dampened Cassandra's mood, she sought to remedy it on instinct. "I came by to let you know that if by any chance you've changed your mind, Vivienne and I can delay our trip for a few hours to allow you to prepare," Trevelyan offered.

"I'm afraid my decision stands," said Cassandra. "I haven't any time for Vivienne's games."

"Games?" the Inquisitor echoed with a laugh fringing the word. "Is that what you think this is?" She clicked her tongue. "You may be surprised to hear that _I_  was the one who suggested inviting you and Leliana along. Vivienne thought it a splendid idea and so kindly issued the invitations for me. And you think we're trying to play games with you? That hurts no small amount, Cassandra. To watch this competition eat away at our friendship... It's awful, really. I dearly wish you could trust me."

She looked hard at her. "And I wish the very same."

Trevelyan pulled the chair out and sat down across from Cassandra, peering at her with pale eyes and addressing her with what uncannily sounded like sincerity, " _I_  trust you, you know. I would place my very life in your hands without a second thought."

"You would not be reckless if you did. I would guard it well."

"But would you feel the same if the situation were reversed?"

"No," Cassandra replied without hesitation.

An eyebrow was raised. "Well that's certainly concerning. Especially since Frederic's heard rumors of another high dragon circling some remote hills near Lydes. When I arrive in Halamshiral I intend to ask the noble landowners if they can confirm the rumor, and if it's true, I planned on inviting you along for one more dragon hunt. What do you think? Just the two of us, perhaps, and a few archer scouts and trackers of course. What would you say to that? Cassandra Pentaghast, dragon hunter extraordinaire?"

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "Are you still under the misconception that I find any glory in hunting dragons? And you've become quite confident in our slaying prowess, to cull the party size to such meager numbers. I would be careful if I were you. Many a proud hero have been lost to these creatures throughout the ages."

Trevelyan smiled and jocundly replied, "I can think of no better way to meet an end." Cassandra obviously did not find the quip particularly humorous, but Trevelyan lost no pride to her opinion. Her eyes drifted to the table in wandering curiosity, spotting the books and the few papers dissonantly jutting from their otherwise neatly-bound pages. She did not notice, but her interest in the anomaly caused Cassandra to grow rigid when Trevelyan reached over and picked up the topmost volume. She silently read the title before opening the book, flipping through numerous pages before they naturally parted to reveal the piece of paper wedged between the end of a section and the one that followed. The little poem was read aloud, causing great distress within Cassandra, who knew not whether to pretend it wasn't hers or to drastically vault herself over the table at Trevelyan.

"This vaguely sounds reminiscent of something I've read before, but can't quite place..." Trevelyan pensively commented, still holding the page between her gloved fingers. "I think I once read a similar tidbit in a children's rhyme book my mother gave me when I was a girl."

Cassandra snatched it away, made indignant by the comparison.

Surprise was etched into the Inquisitor's features at the sudden motion, but it faded when she realized the implications. "You wrote that?" she asked, highly amused.

"Don't you have a trip to disembark on?"

"You write poetry!" Trevelyan exclaimed, delighted with the revelation and succumbing to laughter. "I can't believe you're writing poetry!"

Cassandra's face was afflicted by a deep frown and reddening embarrassment on her cheeks. She began gathering up her belongings from the table while disdainfully announcing, "I'm leaving."

"Oh don't bother, I'll leave you be soon enough," Trevelyan assured her. She stood, finally managing to banish the smile from her lips. "But, however do you find the time to write these charming little things when you're so busy with the Seekers? And among other things as well?"

Arms full of books and papers, Cassandra found herself with no response at the ready.

"Ah, I suppose you already have it all figured out, don't you?" the Inquisitor assumed, genuinely expecting such of Cassandra, who had never in history been caught prioritizing pleasure over work. "Even the Book? In complete honesty, I could not have offered any advice in that decision. I know you'll open it to them, but there's no telling what will follow. All I could ever say to you would be this... Be careful, Cassandra. Whatever path you've chosen for this, be careful."

"I am aware of the situation, Inquisitor," she said. "I will handle it." Her own confidence in the words unexpectedly faltered, as if all her nerves had collectively betrayed her. Cassandra felt strange in the aftermath—something resembling fear, biting and clawing persistently at her heart. She steeled herself and swallowed the unease, although it was only a temporary solution.

"I know you will handle it," said the Inquisitor. She lifted a hand and placed it on Cassandra's shoulder, conveying the firm camaraderie she felt for her, yet unfazed by the many jagged bumps in their friendship. Then she rose from her chair, said her farewells, and departed for her trip.

A near-perfect reflection of her state before her two visitors, Cassandra sat with her hands at her head again, fingertips against her temples and her nails venturing into her hairline. She could feel the nascent throb of a headache stalking her, borne from the pressure caused by one too many things filling her mind. Producing too much noise, too much worry.

One hand left her head to reach out to her poem where Trevelyan had left it sitting atop the book once providing it refuge. She picked it up and brought herself to read it once more. A sigh was all it elicited.

 _Trevelyan is right,_  she grimly conceded to herself.  _I should not be wasting time on idle pleasures when I have other, more important concerns. How can I sit here as I am, writing something with no future practical use, when I could be deliberating over how to present the Book of Secrets to the Seekers, how I might react if their desires conflict with mine, and how we shall respond if we read it publicly and are met with violence?_

An impulse closed her fingers around the paper, gathering it into her palm and crushing the wretched thing. She tossed it listlessly aside, but a not a minute had passed before Cassandra realized that her action had not improved her mood. Rather, she judged it to have worsened. Now a pit of sinking darkness was burrowing into her stomach, and it quickly drove her to reconsider her brash condemnation of the poem and retrieve it.

Cassandra took the crumpled paper into her hands and carefully unfolded it, smoothed it out once, but deep creases now permanently scarred its face.

_It is... It is not even an acceptable product of my time, this thing. And it is not worth Josephine's time either. But I suppose I still must show her that an attempt was made, and her time not wasted utterly._

**.**

**-][-**

**.**

When Cassandra set foot into Josephine's office, emerging from the grounds with no more than her usual attire to shield her from the winds and cold, the ambassador appeared happy to see her but Cassandra could only respond with the smallest of rueful smiles in return; nearly imperceptible, and possibly only existing for that fleeting moment wholly due to Josephine's pleasant reception. She was asked about the poem, inevitably, leaving Cassandra with no alternative other than reaching into a pocket to withdraw the pitifully crumpled paper and peel it open.

Josephine took it from her with a small, confused laugh, asking what happened while she rotated the paper to a legible orientation. Cassandra stood before her desk as if her stationary body were hewn from ancient mountain stone, even as Josephine read the words, found them absolutely darling, and meant to complement her. But when she looked upward, she found something visibly troubling Cassandra. The intensity of the other woman's gaze had grown from alertness into anxiety, and there was a great weariness about her—a concern of notable enormity on her shoulders, pressing downward endlessly.

She never had the chance to inquire about her ill disposition, as Cassandra spoke before she had even found the words.

"I think this arrangement may have been a mistake," she said.

Something about her statement made Josephine feel as if she had been plunged into the drifts of snow outside her window. She was bewildered. "I thought you were enthralled with this idea. You were, weren't you?"

Cassandra canted her head ever so slightly, vaguely resembling a half-executed, guilt-imbued shrug. "It's true," she admitted. "But I regret to inform you that something has changed my mind."

"I certainly respect that, but..." Josephine narrowed her eyes when a thought occurred her. When she spoke, her voice was gentle for Cassandra's sake, but her words were strung together with an underlying, disquieting tightness. "Did Inquisitor Trevelyan say anything to you?" she asked Cassandra, then motioned for her to retrieve another chair to sit with her.

An honest nod confirmed the suspicion. "A comment she made led me to this conclusion," Cassandra replied while stepping away to heed Josephine's request. She returned with one of her cushioned chairs and set it next to the front of the desk before taking a seat and resuming her elaboration. "She implied this activity would be best enjoyed after I settle all my affairs. And she was not wrong."

"No, but she wasn't right either," Josephine said. She carefully folded Cassandra's poem, this time creating more respectful creases in attempt to mask the unsightly veins of abuse. The finesse of her motions was honed sharply by an aspect of irritation; all in her hands, in assiduous knuckles eternally relied upon to channel such contempt away from her herself and into letters. "Try not to listen to her on these matters, Cassandra. She's only trying to unnerve you. You once informed me yourself that much of the future is out of your hands, and I don't think it would be fair to punish yourself for not doing something about an event that will inevitably happen with or without your consent."

Cassandra took her judgement to heart, but struggled to respond. "That itself is what troubles me," she endeavored to accurately describe what haunted her. "To find myself in the path of imminence, restrained to watch but not interfere. That I can do  _nothing_ —" She subconsciously began to wring her hands together where they previously rested motionlessly on Josephine's desk. The leather of her gloves whimpered softly as it chaffed. "—to mitigate our past crimes, our secrets, our atrocities... There must be something I can do. There  _must_  be. I only need to find it." The look she gave Josephine held a desperate resilience. A staunch defiance, lashing out against certainties and unyielding even in the face of futility. But there was pain in it, like the pain of one who stood alone holding some fortress gate shut against the attrition of an enemy battering ram, with all other allies having long fled, and showers of splinters abound... It was a sense of  _helplessness_ , although Cassandra had avoided the word as if it were blighted.

Carefully, Josephine reached out to her. She took hold of one of Cassandra's hands, braving the cold, brutal metal spines of her armored gloves to stop her from wringing her hands more. As she anticipated, Cassandra reacted with some surprise, communicated through a questioning stare. "Cassandra," Josephine said, "I know you would move mountains if it would help the Seekers redeem themselves, but at present there is no way of knowing just what the circumstance will require of you. In time the solution may become clear, but as for now, you may need to accept that there is nothing you can do but wait and see."

Cassandra's eyes were brighter and more emotive than Josephine could remember witnessing. "What a bold proposition it shall be," she quietly said, "to stand in the center of a city, reading from the Seekers' Book to the people, listening to their reviling and raving grievances, and then insisting that our Order still deserves to exist. Is it in my heart to demand so much?"

"The Seekers will not exist as they were," said Josephine. "Whatever they were in the past is sealed away in history, and their absence will make room for a better, righteous order. _Your_  new order, as you speak of it, as you strive for. And that you would open your book and stand before the world with your heart open, denying nothing and criticizing the policy of past leaders..." She never released her hand, and fortunately Cassandra found the gesture meaningful enough to permit it. "It would be moving. I think they would admire you for it. Your honesty, your bravery, your passion for truth. No, I don't think they could rightly despise you at all."

Silence veiled them for a time. Slowly Cassandra emerged from it, bearing on her lips several kind words that made the ambassador's heart nervously leap, "You are a very lovely woman, Lady Josephine. You have already gone beyond yourself, but you must also forgive me. I don't usually permit myself to be so noticeably concerned that I find myself accepting reassurance from another. It's unbecoming of me to necessitate it."

"I will  _not_  forgive you, I think, but only because there is no trespass to forgive," said Josephine. She offered a smile before retrieving her hand at last to take Cassandra's poem and gently fold the Seeker's fingers over the maltreated work. "Promise me you won't destroy it. A poem is an invaluable thing, no matter the author or the subject."

"I give you my word," Cassandra promised. "But to be safe, perhaps it should remain in your possession." She turned her wrist over and opened her hand again, presenting the paper to Josephine and inviting her to take and keep it. After a moment's hesitation, it was lifted away from her palm with great care.

"Leliana came by a short while ago," Josephine informed her. After depositing the paper amongst her belongings, she lifted her eyes again to discover Cassandra's attentiveness. "She told me about Trevelyan's... strategy. Before she left she said she was off to tell you as well."

"Yes. I was furious. So much that I hadn't a care about whether I came off as cold toward Trevelyan when she came by."

"What do you suppose we do about it? I have several ideas. Mostly counteractive recourse, though some of it may sound borrowed from Leliana—" Josephine halted herself when she saw Cassandra's sinking expression.  _Ah yes,_  she reminded herself,  _not this time. Not for this one._  "Or," she resumed, "we can refrain from playing the same game and merely pray the Grand Consensus values integrity over the Chantry's security..."

"I know it might not be the most expedient or prodigious course of action," Cassandra said apologetically, albeit decisively, "but I would not allow myself to stoop to Trevelyan's level. Especially not in this case."

"Did she say anything else to you this morning?" asked Josephine. "Inquisitor Trevelyan, I mean. Anything of note that might allude to any of her future plans?"

"She only happened to invite me along for another dragon hunt, should she receive credible information from the Orlesian nobility meeting in Halamshiral.  _Just the two of us_ , was her suggestion." Cassandra concluded her sentence with an exasperated roll of her eyes.

It certainly sounded like one of the Inquisitor's ideas, Josephine mused. Sometimes she wondered if Trevelyan's inclinations were a product of being the youngest of several siblings, galvanizing grand behaviors which more than often overcompensated. Always the  _most_  pious, the  _most_  glorious, the  _most_  of everything... Someday, the ambassador feared, it might all come crashing down on her head. "Just the two of you, she said?" she inquired with ample interest.

"She's been very persistent lately," Cassandra dryly confirmed. "In trying to infiltrate my good graces again, that is. I wouldn't be surprised if she starts sending me flowers. Provided we survive that dreadful dragon hunt she's proposed..."

"You're actually planning on going?"

"...Well, not precisely. Not if I can help it. I have plenty of viable excuses. But if she shows signs of wanting to go alone I won't allow it; I won't allow her to get herself killed. And so I would go with her." She lowered her voice. "Between you and me, she's far more fragile than she would openly admit. After we took down a Ferelden Frostback in the Hinterlands I had to carry her back to camp. She's... not a very good dragon slayer."

"And you are?" Josephine asked her, playfully lifting her eyebrows at the implication.

Cassandra slowly fiddled with her hands for a moment, not quite descending into her habit of wringing them, but not quite free of the automatic urge either. She ceased and gave a small shrug before tilting her chin at a vaguely proud angle. "I am a formidable warrior, if that's what you're asking."

It was, without a doubt, one of the few things the overly-modest Cassandra allowed herself to be arrogant about.

The spoke a bit more, about dragons, about those few troves of jewels sometimes found near their treacherous domiciles, and about Cassandra returning with a mindfully-selected handful specifically for Josephine if she indeed found herself playing bodyguard for Inquisitor Trevelyan. It began as a lighthearted joke. One that brought a faint, almost imperceptible dash of color to Cassandra's cheeks when she stated that she  _would_  do so, if Josephine would appreciate it, if it did not make her uncomfortable, if it—

A hand was placed upon hers once again, accompanied by the promise that anything she brought back at all, even the smallest most insignificant pebble of no remarkable luster, would be cherished always. Josephine's assertion, her touch (even through the thickness of an armored glove), and the genuine affection in her lovely eyes brought Cassandra's stumbling words to a swift end but sent her flustering to new, dizzying heights.


End file.
